Page 39 of Redemption (Devil Dogs of the Apocalypse #4)

Stitch

My neck makes a satisfying crack as I tilt it to the right. Stress and an overwhelming sense of defeat seemed to be piling up over the last few months.

But not anymore.

There’s potential in the wind.

I became part of Phoenix Rising a little less than a year ago. They took me in, offered me safety, shelter, food, practically everything I could think of.

And then he offered me more.

Too much more, in my opinion.

To the passive onlooker, Phoenix Rising is paradise, offering everything a person could need or ask for.

Especially as we’re all simply trying to survive an apocalypse.

We’re lured in by the Promised Land appeal.

Miracles lying in wait. Heaven on Earth.

When in reality, the demons of a darker, more sinister place rule here.

The door to the Infirmary opens with a tiny squeak, barely audible unless you’re already aware of it.

David, the self-proclaimed leader of Phoenix Rising, looks at the door’s hinges as if they personally insulted him, curling his lip at the rusting metal before he heads my way to the reception desk in the middle of the foyer.

The tiny sound reminds me I have yet another thing to fix before it turns into an even bigger problem, because that’s what I do here at Phoenix Rising.

I fix things. Formerly a med-surg nurse at a local hospital, I can resolve all kinds of problems: abrasions, lacerations, breaks, strains.

.. even a torn stitch on your boss’ favorite pair of trousers.

David lifts his clenched fist over the desk, handing me a pair as he reaches me.

“Mornin’ Stitch! And how are you faring on this fine day?” His thick southern accent—reminiscent of old Georgia—scratches at my ears, and not in a pleasant way. It grates on my nerves, the way he can be so calm, cool, and collected when he knows I know what he and his loyalists do on a daily basis.

A ritual, formed at the black heart of this entire community.

“Going about as well as one might expect, sir,” I reply, stashing the pair of pants in a bag on the floor to take back home and mend later.

He lifts a scrutinizing eyebrow when I do so, fully expecting to be placed before any of my other duties, but I already have a full roster.

New people entering the community means more work for me, and we’ve just recently received a few new additions.

Every citizen within the confines of the community has a file that I and the others in the Infirmary maintain and keep.

In them, you’d find medical testing results, job history, hobbies, where they’re being housed, and current job status/ title, amongst various other data points.

But one of the most important bits of information is viral immunity.

No one is allowed to stay within the boundaries if they aren’t immune to the zombie contagion.

That is, unless you’re a female.

Females are too rich a commodity nowadays to be dismissed so frivolously, according to David. Instead, they’re kept under lock and key, safe from the virus as well as any intruders or harm.

At least from outside of the community, that is.

“And how goes the processing of our newest initiates?”

I glance down at the document I was just filling in when David arrived and recite the notes on a man named Jackson Rhodes.

It took a bit to get his full name, but after a few hours he finally complied.

“Patient in room two exhibits normal behavior after abduction. Confused and agitated, but willing to comply with directives. Health seems to be in order, although he was a bit banged up when he first arrived. Subluxation of the left shoulder, various abrasions and contusions found across his entire body, as well as a handful of lacerations. Upon later examination, the patient also exhibited signs indicating a concussion: temporary amnesia, dizziness, lethargy, and irritability. Patient’s testing did show elevated levels of sedative in his system, much higher than is normally used in such cases, which explains why it took him so long to regain consciousness, but the blood tests also verified he was immune to the virus, so he should be a welcome addition to the community, sir. ”

David rises to his full height, his hands meeting together in a victorious clap. “Wonderful!” His head turns to glance down the hallway to where Jackson is still being kept under twenty-four-hour surveillance by the two guards stationed just outside his door. “Gentlemen. How do?”

They dip their chins in recognition and reply together.

“Fine, sir.”

“Good, sir.”

David folds his arms across his chest as he regards them with an inquisitive glare. “Were you part of the party responsible for the collection of our newest initiates?”

“Yes, sir,” they both respond in tandem.

David’s grin widens at their response, turning purely sadistic as he takes a lingering step forward.

“Splendid! Then you can explain to me why two vehicles were used for transport during the extraction when we have a perfectly functioning tunnel system in place?” The guards look at one another, their mouths falling open as they grasp for some sort of response.

David doesn’t wait for one, however, as his grin falls, a menacing shadow falling across his face.

“A system that effectively eliminates the ability for those in our care to perform any retaliation maneuvers during transport due to the unlimited resources available in the Underground?”

The guard on the right, Samson, steps forward.

“I apologize, sir. From what the others indicated, these guys were extremely combative upon initial contact. They’re also not normal civilians just trying to survive out there, as per the norm.

These guys had weapons, tactical training, knowledge of evasive maneuvers.

Silver, Rico, and the other superiors thought it best we restrain and separate them for transport, limiting their ability to regain consciousness and rally together if they did.

This guy and one other were placed in separate vehicles, while the third was taken by Silver’s team via the tunnel system. ”

David nods at Samson’s report, pursing his lips as he takes another step forward, cool as a cucumber but lethal in his unyielding stare. “You are aware we lost three good men during the transport of the very same person you are securing in that room, are you not?”

Samson’s throat works on an audible gulp. “Yes, sir.”

“So, then, the mission wasn’t as successful as your superiors had intended, was it?”

“No, sir.” His face is void of emotion, but a drop of sweat betrays his distress as it trickles down the side of his face.

David is unrelenting with his domination, silently observing every microexpression Samson provides.

His head tilts to the side as his mouth opens, tongue in his cheek as he studies the guard, his gaze scrupulous and unwavering.

And then, like the flip of a switch, David smiles again, his cheeks pulling at the corners of his mouth as the room fills with false hope and silent threats.

“But alas, young Samson, in the end, that wasn’t your fault.

But it is a conversation I’ll be having with your superiors.

” He turns back to me, seemingly unperturbed, and places his elbows on the desk, hunching over it and crowding close.

The expensive yet repulsive cologne he insists upon wearing irritates my eyes, but I keep my reaction hidden behind the tightened clench of my jaw. “And what about his... other tests?”

The other tests...

The ones I refuse to take part in.

Abrupt disobedience, such as mine, wouldn’t go so far if I were anyone else.

Over the past few months—and for far less infractions—David has thrown dozens of defectors to suffer the whims of the hordes.

But I’m not like them. I’m valuable—the only official medical personnel living within the boundaries of Phoenix Rising.

Sure, there are others that work in the Infirmary on David’s orders doing the disgusting jobs I refuse to do, as well as lower-level triage to lift the burden of taking care of an entire community off my shoulders, but I’m the only one who actually knows how to save a life.

How to keep this community of his running.

The only one who knows how to run the tests to determine who’s immune and who is vulnerable.

Too many years working in microbiology and disease control gifted me the knowledge to isolate the known variables and create the tests we use today.

To be honest, if I could leave tomorrow, I would.

But I, like the women of this community and our new friend down the hallway, am kept under lock and key.

Not necessarily restricted to a room as Jackson is, but watched, day in and day out.

There never comes a time when someone doesn’t know where I am.

Hourly checks are held to determine my whereabouts, and if I’m not at my designated position for that time of day, all hell breaks loose.

The one and only time I missed a check-in, David rounded up his entire militia to hunt me down.

If he had just checked in the bathroom, he would have found me immediately.

Instead, the town was turned upside down, the buildings were emptied, and the fields where we grow our crops were trampled underfoot as if they were conducting a search and rescue for a kid in a lake.

Hand in hand, they marched through the tall stalks until I walked onto the main road and asked someone who they were looking for.

The man then turned to me, wide-eyed, and yelled, “HE’S HERE!

” It was then I realized they were looking for me while I was just taking a break after lunch.