The rain does not let up as I make my way through the deserted streets of the suburb and leave the dead boy far behind me. Forks of lightning streak across the sky in the distance, illuminating the horizon just enough for me to see billowing thunderclouds towering into the night sky. This storm looks like it might stick around for quite some time.
I need to find a place to hole up for a few hours and wait it out but I can’t risk it while still being so close to Cable. His reaction to my message will be unpredictable and I need to put a good deal of distance between us, even if that means pushing myself to the limit.
As I jog ahead, I try to remember the last time I ate a real meal. My memory of the time after first waking from my coma is hazy, but I can’t quite picture having any food brought to me. In fact, the scent of real food almost seems foreign to me now. Having been fed intravenously for two months my system probably would not be able to handle food in any large quantities, not that they even exist now.
Ignoring my exhaustion and the gnawing hole in my stomach, I set a slow but steady pace heading due south and away from the city. I do not know where I am heading. Only that I need to lead Cable as far away from Nox as possible.
Within an hour, the storm reaches its full intensity, buffeting me left and right as the winds send violent gusts down the road. Rain lashes against my face while lightning draws near constant jagged lines down to the ground. Thunder reverberates through my chest as I search for shelter, but there is none to be found on this stretch of road as fields and hills surround me on both sides.
I hold my scarf overhead to keep my eyes clear to see my path, but it is drenched and sags under the weight of the rain. As the winds howl like a pack of baying dogs, my desperation to find shelter mounts and I decide that the next house or shop that I see will have to be my target.
Small chunks of hail begin to bounce off my head as I peer through the sheets of rain. My pace slows to a labored walk as I push against the winds. Half an hour later I finally spy a two story building off to my right. I plunge through a small gully of rushing water, flailing to mount the other side and then hurry across a broken concrete parking lot in the back. With a weak kick, I jar the lock on the single loading dock door, but it remains in place. After three more kicks the handle comes loose and I am able to slide the door open and then collapse into the darkness within.
Rolling onto my back, I stare up at a warehouse style metal roof high above and realize that I’ve found myself in some sort of small market style store. The walls are lined with the odd black or brown wicker basket. Many have been tossed across the floor and trampled. There is an earthy scent on the air as I roll over to my side and push sluggishly up to my feet.
The scent grows stronger as I push through sheets of plastic strips that dangle from a double doorway and into the store beyond. More rows of wicker baskets line tables, small bins and tables line the space. Three sets of refrigerated units sit dark along the back wall. A case stocked with spoiled milk and a large cow sign on top stands beside a smashed cash register. Several of the tables still hold their composting wares in plastic wrapping.
“That must be the source of the smell.”
I wander down the rows, searching for anything that might be edible, but the only things left behind are things that are of no use to anyone anymore: flours, oils and seasonings. One aisle contains baking utensils, pizza pans and aprons. I stare at them longingly, knowing that I’d pretty much give my left arm for a thick crust pizza oozing with cheese right about now.
With my stomach growling and my energy waning, I reach the far end of the store and turn the corner to find a Withered standing still in the aisle. Every muscle in my body goes taut as I come to a complete halt.
It has its back to me and oddly doesn’t seem aware of my presence. Long, baggy trousers sit low on the man’s boney hips. A wide dark stain covers his back side and turns my nose up at the smell. His thin arms stick out from torn dress sleeves, stained and reeking of body odor.
He shifts slowly to this right and then back again to the left. A low wheezing sound comes from him, wet and chunky, like phlegm caught in his throat.
Indecision keeps me rooted in place. If he were a Flesh Bag he would have turned and attacked by now, but what is this Withered doing just standing in the store?
Curiosity gets the better of me and I circle around to a side aisle. I duck down low when I reach the end cap and look up at the Withered and realize why he is unaware of my presence. His ears have been cut away and his eyes have been plucked from their sockets, leaving ghastly empty holes. I can see no signs of bite marks anywhere on his exposed flesh.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper, covering my mouth with horror.
This was not the work of a Flesh Bag, but of a human. The cuts are too precise.
I slowly rise and step up to the man, feeling a profound sorrow fall over me. Even though I know it feels nothing, I can’t leave it to just stand here. Grabbing my gun, I flip the safety and put the barrel to his temple and pull the trigger. He collapses into a heap and I turn and walk away, leaving him to whatever peace a thing like him can find in the afterlife.
Soul weary and exhausted to the point of near collapse, I stumble back toward the loading dock and shove a stack of crates across the plastic draped doorway to put distance between me and the Withered. The sounds of hale striking the roof are much louder here, but it helps to drown out the growling of my stomach. Rain has begun to come in under the back door where parts of the lower half chipped off when I forced the door to roll on the rusted track. Water trails toward the center of the room where I stand. I look around me for anything that I can use to create a makeshift bed. I am beyond being picky at this point.
Settling on two pallets to keep me up off the floor and some old grain sacks, I stack my bed and then remove my wet clothing, hanging them to dry on a shelf before sinking down onto the hardest bed that I have ever slept on.
The storm rages for hours as I toss and turn, plagued by nightmares and stiff muscles. When the morning finally arrives, the storm proves to have only weakened slightly and I am forced to remain indoors. Stretching out my back, I rise from my bed and go in search of a toilet.
I dress in damp but decidedly drier clothes and spend the next two hours ransacking boxes in the warehouse. All of the food spoiled long ago. Discouraged and unwilling to waste any more energy, I plop down onto the floor and listen to the rain. It has been a constant sound for so many hours that it’s nothing more than white noise.
I used to like the rain. Now it makes me worry.
Will Cable come looking for me despite the storm? Surely he has no reason to fear it.
Sitting up, I realize that neither do I. Wind and rain can’t hurt me. I have slept, albeit fitfully, and feel stronger than I did the day before. It is time to move on.
Wrapping my scarf around my neck for when the clouds decide to finally break, I turn back one last time and out of the corner of my eye I spot a silver shine under a shelf. Hurrying over, I kneel down and stretch back toward the wall and pull out a small homemade jar of peaches.
“Oh, sweet mother of sweetness!”
The brown sugar alone should give me the extra boost of energy that I will need.
Using the edge of my box knife to break the seal, I unscrew the lid and tip the can up to my lips. Streams of juice pour over the edge of my lips and down my chin but I swallow as much as I can. Then I scoop out the peaches with my finger and eat down to the bottom.
My stomach rumbles with appreciation as I toss the jar aside and watch it shatter against the wall with a sense of apathy. I have never been someone who damages other people’s property, even during my more rebellious days, but there is no one left to care.
Opening the back door, I stare out into the dismal gray. The rain falls heavily, but the sky no longer rumbles with thunder. Despite the heavy cloud cover I wrap my scarf around my face to conceal my eyes with the fabric and head back out into the storm. Deciding that no one apart from Flesh Bags would be stupid enough to be out on the road in a deluge like this, I make my way toward the highway and climb the steep embankment. Pushing up over a rusting chain link fence, I land several feet back from where a concrete bollard stands between me and the main road.
Spread out before me is a mass of abandoned cars, shattered windshields, and nothingness. Nothing moves. Nothing walks. It is as if every Withered has vanished from this place.
“I bet they’ve all been mutilated by some sick human or eaten by those Flesh Bag bastards.”
Never before have I wanted to see the moaning and rotting Walkers so badly. Surely they haven’t all been turned into Flesh Bags. If that is the case, then Nox and the people who have remained behind at the hotel do not stand a chance against such a force.
My only hope is to draw Cable’s attention away, but where is the safest direction to head?
Knowing that there must be a road sign somewhere in the distance, I break out into a jog in search of one so that I can consider my options. After leaving St. Louis months back our small band of mismatched friends had a purpose: get as far away from the military as possible. Then I was handed a new destination when Cable spoke of his brother stationed near Nashville, TN, but now I have nowhere that I have to be and no one waiting for me.
A northern route could potentially lead Cable to follow me into some desolate arctic landscape where no one would get hurt, but countless would be injured along the way, not to mention Cable’s army would grow along the way. If I continue south, the heat and sun will be a major deterrent for both him and me.
As I stare up at the road sign I feel utterly indecisive. I can just as easily head toward Knoxville and down through the Smoky Mountains or jump state lines and loop back up toward Kentucky. The only thing I know for certain is that I need to avoid heading west during the late spring storm season. The last thing I want is to survive a man-made apocalypse only to be taken out by one of Mother Nature’s tornadoes.
“Nox would know what to do.” I rub my hands along my arms to warm myself up. The rain isn’t nearly as cold as it was when I first stumbled across the Flesh Bags a couple short months ago. Spring has already begun to shift into summer and with it will come an insufferable heat that will be pure misery to endure.
“Knowing Nox, he would probably already have a plan in place and soldiers field dressing their AK-47s while I stand around here like a brainless ninny! Snap out of it, Avery. Make a plan and stick to it!”
But that is easier said than done. No matter which direction I follow it will take me too close to people. At some point I am bound to run across survivors or a group of Raiders. My hands tremble at the thought of close contact and I shove them deep into my pockets as I try to push aside the almost immediate hunger that I feel.
The urges are getting stronger. I can’t risk being around anyone right now. Nor can I allow Cable to find me too soon.
I wipe water from my eyes and stare at the small town landscape ahead of me. Random buildings show signs of having been charred by arson fires, probably occurring not long after the outbreak began, when people pillaged and plundered to their hearts content. Many of the brick faces have been sprayed with ammunition rounds. That was most likely done by the National Guard as they fought to maintain control, but it was a losing battle. Panic has a way of spilling over into the best of people.
As I begin to jog, I pass by abandoned tanks, burnt out military trucks and barricades used to create roadblocks that make much of the town center impassable.
“The military sure did a number on this place. A lot of good it did them,” I mutter with bitterness in my voice. Apart from Nox, my loathing of anything wearing camouflage hasn’t changed.
At the thought of the suffering that I’ve endured at the hands of the military my stomach sours and my lip curls with disgust. No good has ever come from their involvement. Every terrible thing that has happened to me since the outbreak has been a direct result of their meddling.
Nox may be one of them, trained and armed by them, but he doesn’t have the same mindless will to obey. Not like Cap and some of the others. Nox at least feels riddled with guilt over discovering the part he played in Iris and Brian’s plan to use innocent survivors in their test trials, which ended up creating the plague of Flesh Bags that now make up Cable’s army. That gives me hope that he will do whatever it takes to do what is right by his people.
At the thought of Iris, the deceased former leader of the Opryland Hotel base, my hands clench into fists at my side. Without Iris alive to check in with the other Safe Zones, at dawn every Zone went into a full scale lockdown mode. After that, human testing will begin on a mass scale and more people will suffer at the hands of doctors just like Dr. Wiemann.
As the doctor’s face swims before my eyes, I know exactly what Nox would do if he were standing at this crossroads. He would locate the nearest Safe Zone and attempt to rescue anyone still left alive, no matter the cost.
“But even if I had a clue where the Zones are located, I’d never make it in time.” I turn to look back toward Nashville. Nox would be the hero and save the day because that’s who he is. Maybe at one time I would have tried as well, but I’m not that same girl anymore. The thought of being around so many people in one place makes me nauseous and excited at the same time in a very bad way.
I kick out at the front tire of an SUV beside me and feel the worn tread give way beneath the toe of my boot. A slow and steady hiss of air sounds as the tire defaltes.
“I’m dangerous,” I tell myself as I turn away. “I need to get away from people, not pretend that this is my fight anymore.”
But even as I speak the words I feel how wrong they are. Who will fight for these victims when no one else even knows that they are in danger? My lot in life royally sucks, but maybe I was changed for a reason. Maybe I can still do some good.
“Right,” I scoff and roll my eyes as I wrap my arms around myself. “Try and be the hero and watch how long it takes you to lose your shit and take a bite out of someone’s neck.”
No matter how I look at the situation, I can’t see a positive end. I don’t trust myself, especially after killing that boy with barely batting an eye. And the hunger I felt when I smelled his fear... What if I don’t walk away next time?
There is a second thought that crosses my mind that makes my breath catch. What if by trying to save those people I bring Cable, along with his horde of hungry Flesh Bags, right to their doorstep? Even if the science experiments don’t go wrong, I would be sentencing them to a certain and horrific death.
My shoulders slump as I sink down onto the hood of a car and stare blankly into the distance. Cold droplets of rain fall around my face, trailing along my cheeks, but I barely feel them.
The road seems to stretch on forever in front and behind me as I sit in silence and watch a second round of storms on approach. Lightning illuminates towering thunderheads but I feel no fear. In fact, I feel little of anything until I look back at the road that will lead me away from Nox and I am filled with a strange sense of dread and a loneliness that I haven’t felt since the initial days after I left Cable trapped in the cave.
“I’m sorry, Nox. You believed in me but I just can’t do it...” I trail off as the wind shifts and I lift my nose to the air.
My nostrils flare as I turn south and breathe deep. The scent is faint, almost indecipherable with the rain, but I trust the twisting in my gut to lead me right. Dr. Wiemann passed this way not too long ago and he wasn’t alone.