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HER BACK HURT. NOT a small ache but the kind of pain that would grow into a spasm and she’d be wishing for a bullet to pop into her head. End her misery. But the misery was happening. The pain was real. Ignore the hurt in her back and the constant throbbing in her neck, people surrounding her were grieving and lost. Captured with a pile of dead that hadn’t been moved. And Brenda had to assign someone to move them.
Had their captors counted? Was there a chance they didn’t know how many had died? How many bodies lay there in that pile? One-hundred and twelve corpses she couldn’t pull off, but was there a way she could get a few out? Jenny and thirteen others hid beneath the bleachers and in the locker room undetected, but for how long?
Gustavson had demanded she deal with the bodies.
Bastian had whispered to her the food was poisoned.
Now the scent of chocolate chip cookies wafted across the crowd and they moved like zombies to the pallet.
People were injured. She was wounded. But some of the victims hadn’t eaten in four days. And hunger trumped injuries.
Brenda moved to stand in front of the pallet, the marked bags on the corner closest to Andy. Dang it, she needed to treat him, sooner rather than later. He’d get one of the bags. Jenny would get one. But then what? She wouldn’t keep good food for herself. Not when she knew the truth.
A younger man, mid-twenties maybe, moved away from the growing group and reached for a paper bag. Brenda pushed his hand away. She shook her head.
He stood back, tossing a glance at the other people gathering around him. “What are you doing? That’s food, right? You think you get to keep it all? We’re starving.”
Brenda nodded. “It is food.” She coughed. “But... I mean...” What did she say? What the hell did she do?
“Then move. I’m hungry and my wife is hungry.” He pushed her aside and grabbed two bags. Another person moved forward as well.
Brenda called out in a slow confident voice when she was anything but, “Then you tell your wife you’re sorry she got poisoned. I can at least wipe the guilt of her death from my conscious.” He paused and turned back to her, his head cocked like he hadn’t heard her.
“Oh, yes, you heard me. Your wife? She’s going to be eating food you brought her.” Brenda moved toward him. She lowered her voice. “Those guards just told me the food they were bringing is poisoned. Not all of it, but some of it. I don’t know what’s safe and what isn’t in each bag.” She met the man’s eyes. “Can you tell me what’s poisoned in there?” She tapped on the brown bag, a solid crinkle sound carried over the hushed crowd. “Because I have no idea. And I’m not sure I would take that chance.”
He shifted his feet and placed one of the meals on the stack. With exaggerated movements, he pulled open the top and peeked inside. From the bag, he pulled an apple, a peanut butter sandwich, chips, chocolate chip cookies, and a juice box.
While she decided what to do about the dead, she’d administered to the injured, saving Andy for last. No one had spoken with her except for the cursory reply to her questions. She moved to Andy, ignoring the group.
At least Andy had a reason for his stoicism. Each careful sweep of the damp, sterile gauze took away layers of dirt that had her convinced she would find third degree burns or worse with infection and who knew what else. But only first and minor second degree injuries greeted her gentle cleansing. His hands had the worst of it, blistered and red, but even those wouldn’t be too horribly disfigured. Flinches and moans broke through his attempts to hold the pain’s effects in.
Brenda made the move to his head and face. Bright red spots gave way to dark maroon crusts. Black and brown splotches and streaks decorated his skin and obliterated much of his paleness. The flicker of his eyelids flashed the whites of his eyes, stark contrast to the dark of the dirt covering him.
His forehead would be as good a place as any to start. She wiped downward. Andy groaned. In the wake of the gauze a new red trickle sprang forth. The laceration was deep and wide, a centimeter square at the least. Daniel hadn’t given her needles but he’d supplied butterfly bandages. He’d cocked his brow at her request for super glue, but that had been given as well, two packages with five tubes each. The bastard might be smart but not in the sciences. He’d just given her an extremely versatile tool.
Andy’s peripheral wounds wouldn’t cause the level of disorientation he elicited. How many other head wounds did he have and how bad was the one she had already discovered?
“Can you hear me, Parker?” If he had a concussion, loud noises wouldn’t help the recovery.
His movement was almost imperceptible. A small nod and a quiver of his lips attested to the amount of pain he had.
“I think you have a concussion, maybe more. I need to finish cleaning so I can see what we’re dealing with. It may hurt. Iodine after that and that will hurt. I won’t lie.”
His lips moved. Brenda leaned closer. His lips moved again.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
Ears pressed almost to his mouth, Brenda held her breath.
“You never lie.”
Brenda jerked back. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away. He would be okay. The brat. Making her worry.
Bringing up her lack of bedside manners at a time like that? Only Andy. But Brenda found she didn’t really care. He would get better and then he could help her get out of the mess they were in. “I’m glad you’re more alert. I need help.” She glanced over her shoulder. People shifted their gazes between watching Brenda, the food, and the dead bodies. Brenda lowered her voice to a whisper. She put her mouth by his ear. “They’ve poisoned the food. There are four marked bags that are unpoisoned. What do I do? There isn’t enough food for everyone in the four bags.” She pulled back and met his gaze, sick to her stomach. “I can’t let only a few eat while others go hungry, but at the same time... unh, I don’t know what to do. You need to eat.”
Pointing his finger toward the pallet, Andy murmured, “Tell them, all of it. Let them decide. I couldn’t eat, even if I wanted to. The pain...”
Brenda nodded. Of course. Pain was debilitating. He needed water more than anything.
She patted the floor next to him. “I’ll be back, then. I hope.” She offered a weak smile. “I could stand to go without food a little bit, too.”
On her feet, Brenda returned to stand beside the pallet. She pinched the marked brown bags with one hand and wolf-whistled with the other.
Groups approached, many eyes narrowed and brows furrowed with suspicion.
Over the grumbles rippling across the gym, Brenda raised her voice. “I was told these four bags haven’t been tampered with. There are over a hundred of us, but maybe we can get a bit or a sip of something, if we share. If not, then we need to decide who will get the bags.”
The man who’d taken the bag earlier pushed past an older couple. His shoulders were hunched and he led with furrowed brow and snarling lips. “Who decides?”
Brenda stood her ground. “We can do this democratically. Majority rules.” She looked past him to the compacting group. “Three options. Take our chances with the unmarked bags and no one gets the non-poisoned food. Divvy up the marked bags. Or pick a few individuals to get the safe food.” More eyes focused on her. “Think about it.” She paused, which way did she want to go? Would they blame the decision on her... “Raise your hand if you think we all should get the unmarked bags.” She leaned toward the belligerent man, “Can you count them to make sure we get the same number?” He tossed a quick glance at her and then raised his finger to count the slowly rising hands.
“I got twelve. You?”
Brenda nodded and swallowed. She didn’t even know the exact number of people in the room. What if there were some in the locker room still? Was Jenny still under the bleachers? She wouldn’t be counted. “Same. Okay, divvy up the marked bags?”
Hands rose in the air, more and more. The man helping count turned to her, his eyebrows raised. “I think it’s unanimous, don’t you?”
“So we have to split up four bags of food between a hundred or so of us? Some who haven’t eaten in days? Is there any water?” This wasn’t biblical times and there were no blessed fish around with loaves of bread. Sandwiches and chips. The basics and a paltry amount at that.
An elfin-like woman stepped forward, her pixy hair and petite facial features a deep contrast to the low sultry level of her voice. “There’s water in the showers. They cut the water to everything in the gym, but the kids got into the locker rooms and there’s plenty of water in there. I’m fine without food. The people who are hurt or sick can have my share.”
Heads dispersed throughout the group nodded. But there had to be order somehow. Brenda raised her voice over the swelling aside comments and whispers. How had she been thrust into the leadership position, when all she wanted was to go home? “Let’s have those who need the food or want the food on this side,” she pointed toward the padded wall, “and those willing to go without against the bleachers.”
Ten people found a seat on the bleachers while the rest formed a line to shadow the perimeter of the gymnasium. Brenda took herself out of the equation. Andy would need food. Jenny joined the bleacher group and two kids from where she’d hidden ran to the wall for the food. A bite, if that, would be passed to the people who had to have food.
Looking down the line, Brenda shook her head. So many people, older and young, injured and outwardly fine in appearance. While the large number seemed vast, the group was a mere sliver to the amount of people that hadn’t made it into the containment areas. How many were still alive?
“Let’s separate into four groups. Count off and then a bag will go to each one and you can share it as you’d like.” A chorus of one, two, three, four rippled down the line. The ones collected under the basketball hoop and the twos followed suit on the opposite end of the court. Threes and fours joined at the half-court line.
She couldn’t move Andy. But water. He’d wanted water. She could get him some. It’d be more important to get hydrated in his condition, anyway.
Surprisingly civil, the people moved for her as she walked across the rubberized floor to the locker rooms. The prospect of food acted as a healthy bonus toward congenial behavior.
Cup. How was she going to get him the water? Her hands? Come on. She pushed through the wooden door, the echo of her footfalls welcoming her away from the crowded public area. The room was empty. A few lockers stood open. Garbage cans led each line of metal cubbies. Glancing down, Brenda stooped and retrieved a partially crushed water bottle. Problem solved.
She filled the bottle but leaned against the cool tile wall. Just a small break. In the sudden silence, devoid of shifting people and moans, Brenda acknowledged the pain pulling her neck from her shoulder.
A mirror mocked her from the wall beside the door. If she got up to look at her injury, she’d be close to the door and might as well continue out. She waited another moment. Just one more. Maybe another.
Pushing herself off the wall, she sighed. Andy needed his water and her neck was killing her.
Lifting her chin and tilting her head to the side, Brenda pulled the collar from her neck. Oh, no. Blackened skin surrounded by puckered, swollen red flesh glared at her. Thin clear fluid seeped from the edges of the scab-like, quarter-sized burn. She’d have to patch it or the material of her shirt would irritate the wound further.
A scream rent the air, muffled through the walls and door.
Exhausted and past the “shockable” point, Brenda rolled her eyes. “No more. Seriously. What now?”
She shoved against the door which protested with squeaking hinges. Brenda scanned the room. Something was off, but what was it? Getting water and checking her burn couldn’t have taken long.
Jenny stood on the corner of the bleachers, her hands clamped over her mouth, eyes wide. Brenda followed the path of her gaze. A man collapsed to the ground, followed by a woman two feet from him.
The downward movement of the captives pulled Brenda’s gaze to the floor. She gasped. The number of people on the ground doubled the standing and more were dropping like baseballs. Something off? Hell, it was wrong.
Brenda ran to Jenny and shook her arm. “What happened?”
Shaking, Jenny sobbed between her fingers, “They portioned the food. Everyone got a bite-size chunk. And on the count of three they all ate it. Laughing. Celebrating. They’ve been falling down.” She ended on a whisper. “So fast.”
Poisoned. The bastard had told her the wrong information. She’d killed all those people. They’d trusted her and... Brenda tugged Jenny’s fingers from her face. Speaking softly, she met the young girl’s eyes, “Jenny, did you eat anything?”
“No. I wanted to, but I didn’t.” Guilt creased her brow. “What do we do?”
Brenda turned Jenny and pushed her gently from the bench in Andy’s direction. “Go. Sit with Andy and don’t watch. If it helps, plug your ears.” Moans and groans, whimpers and small cries preceded thuds and shuffles as people fell to the floor.
She couldn’t stop what was happening. But she could help diminish the effects of shock on the living.
The ten people on the bleachers had frozen, staring at the dropping crowd with mouths open and eyes wide. A man turned his head and dry heaved, his empty stomach relinquishing nothing. Brenda climbed the three benches. “Come over here. Don’t watch. Hurry.” She repeated her orders until they moved slow as frozen honey. She ushered them beside Jenny, into a protected area, slightly sectioned off from the remainder of the gym by the open stands.
She couldn’t look. Coward, she berated herself. But what did she have to gain? No sound. Brenda squatted on the ground between Andy and Jenny. The ten people had paled. No one could raise their eyes.
Growing silence. Eerie.
Brenda pressed her hand to Andy’s damp forehead. Clammy but not high enough for an infection. His breathing had grown shallow and his eyes closed. Jenny bumped against Brenda’s elbow, her tremors forcing her to take a seat and shove her head in her hands. Sobs racked her thin, teen shoulders.
Oh, what Brenda would give to go into a closet and cry her eyes out. When had the world gone to hell-in-a-hand-basket? Everything she did turned out backwards and she wasn’t used to that, being a nurse practitioner. Control was the name of the game and she helped calm people, save lives. Nothing had gone well. She’d lost... well, over a hundred by that point, a death count that superseded all the rest of her other deaths combined.
Jenny glanced up at Brenda and whispered, “Are they all... gone?”
Ten pairs of eyes glanced up at Brenda with Jenny’s question which dropped into the silence like a rock in a metal bucket of water. Oh, to go back in time and remove the role of leader she’d somehow gotten stuck with. Brenda didn’t want to look any more than the other people. She glanced over her shoulder.
No one stood. No movement. The food-poisoned people lay in organized piles of twenty-five or so, flanked by the young bunch of kids who’d eaten cyanide tablets. Limbs jerked but no conscious movement caught her eye.
Brenda faced the expectant, hopeful faces and closed her eyes, offering a soft shake of her head. Damn. Nobody lived. She didn’t have a clue what to say or do. Lack of sleep, food and normal conditions took its toll. She couldn’t get her brain to function and the survivors looked the same.
The control she’d held snapped. In a matter of nanoseconds, long strides delivered her to the door where she curled her fingers into fists and beat against the doors, screaming. “You bastards! Get in here and stop this! Aah!”
She slumped against the wood, flattening her hand and sliding down the surface to kneel on the ground. Sobs wrenched from her frame. Damn it. Her soul ached. Those poor people. Tears slid down her cheeks. “You assholes,” she whispered.
Brenda leaned her forehead onto the cold handle. Think. She had to figure out what to do next. Nobody was coming to save them. If Brenda wanted out, she had to find a way.
If they didn’t get rid of the bodies, they’d soon get sick. Gustavson or Daniel had said she had to assign someone to get rid of the bodies. Did anyone have the energy to do that?
Andy coughed, pulling her attention to him. He opened his eyes and watched her from parted lids.
He spoke, a whisper but stronger than before. “Where are we?”
Brenda dug through the medical supplies by his hip and pulled a fresh gauze square which she dipped into hydrogen peroxide. “We’re at the high school by your house.”
He searched the ceiling high above them. “We’d almost made it to Hayden. How did I get here? Are Rachel or the kids here?”
“I’m not sure about how you got here. Rachel and the kids aren’t at this site. I’m not sure if they made it to your place. I don’t know... anything.” She couldn’t believe how tired she was. Even the lies rolled off her tongue, coated in slurs and stutters. If her sister had made it anywhere, more likely than not Brenda would be unnecessary. But if she were worth anything now, why would they take the chance she’d eat the poisoned bags?
Unless. “What’s going on?” Andy licked his chapped lips. “Did you tell anyone about the poisoned bags?”
Sitting back on her heels for a break, Brenda sighed. How did she tell Andy everyone was dead but a handful? “They lied to me.” Blurting out the words was one way.
“What?”
“Daniel said the four marked bags were unpoisoned. I told everyone and we opted to dole out the contents to anyone who felt they needed something in their stomach. They’re all dead. There are literally ten or so of us left. Ten.” She hung her head. “I have to get rid of the bodies, but I don’t... unh.” Just a little bit of eye closure. A teensy amount of sleep. But when she closed her eyes, the bodies piled up in the dark recesses of her mind. She snapped her lids open. Oh, hell. “The bastards shot people right in front of me. I... I couldn’t save them.” Brenda swallowed the pain she’d been able to bury the last handful of hours. Did she complain about the brand on her neck... not to Andy. He had more burns on his body than her little bitty burn could stand up to. Regardless how “small” it was, she still needed to cover it. The stinging tug when her shirt moved had become a form of Chinese water torture, except she’d welcome a splash of water.
Shock and disbelief riddled the air. Andy stared at his foot while Brenda rechecked his wounds. How did one recover from hearing what she’d dropped on him? Was there a grieving process for that? Death you could deal with. Sickness, marriage, loss, financial need, even disasters and attacks you could find a way to cope with. But how did you accustom yourself to the anticipation of those things?
Brenda snorted.
“What?” Andy raised his gaze to her face, questions mixing with dirt and blood.
She sucked her teeth. “I was thinking about anticipating terrible things. Reminds of when Rachel tried explaining fear to me a long time ago. She’d always been adamant that if you had fear for something then that thing ruled you. I always...” Ruled by something you feared. Her exhaustion disappeared.
Andy pushed on the ground and tried to push himself up, but grunted with the effort. “You always what?”
Brenda reached out and lifted him under his armpits – the only place fire never seemed to reach. “You always what?” Brenda pressed her hand to her forehead. “Remember when Rachel came back from Rhode Island and she had that odd tattoo?”
Andy’s jaw tightened under the crinkled skin. His eyes narrowed. “Yes. They’d made her take the mark to remind her of what she’d worked on, like a secret society or something. She’s never been the same.” He leaned back into the wall and grimaced when his shoulders made contact with the cement block structure. “I hated that thing. Reminded us and we didn’t want to be reminded.”
“Yeah. Well,” Brenda leaned forward, shoving her neck into Andy’s line of view, “they gave me my own version.”
He blew his breath out. “Oh man. Brenda, I’m sorry. Did they burn that in? Were you awake?”
Pulling back, Brenda shrugged. “Yeah, but... it’s nothing like your wounds.” She wiped at a different puncture wound on his skin two inches from the first. She ignored Andy rolling his eyes. “I think you fell on something with nails or bolts. These are uniform. Do you remember anything?”
He closed his eyes. “Fire and climbing inside a house to push out two teenagers. The house fell in on itself. I think I threw myself under the bed to keep away from the roof. The bed had to be a rod iron frame. Hot as Hades. I don’t remember how I got out. The fall was fast. I don’t even recall landing.”
Brenda nodded. “Adds up to a concussion. Sometimes you remember and sometimes you don’t.”
“Excuse me.” A soft voice behind them pulled Brenda’s attention from the small world she’d locked herself in with Andy. The familiarity between them offered comfort unavailable in the hell she’d been locked in. Brenda had blocked out the chaos, even if for only a moment.
One of the girls, about Jenny’s age, stared at the bags of food. “Do you think they’re all poisoned?”
Brenda had had the same question. If Daniel had lied about the other bags, could he have purposely switched the information? To in fact poison the people that Brenda “valued” above all the rest? Because isn’t that what most people do, give the “best” to the ones they love? Brenda was a nurse and didn’t work that way.
The pallet hadn’t moved since the bags of death had been handed out. Bags of Death... Like a Stephen King novel. Brenda really was losing it. She stood and approached the pile of lunch bags with hesitation. Could it be? A real chance untouched food existed in their midst?
Ripping open the brown paper of the top bag, Brenda glanced at the Uncrustables, peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches with the crusts removed. The packaging hadn’t been tampered with. In the four marked bags, the sandwiches had been handmade and wrapped in baggies. In her bag, the milk, while warm, hadn’t been touched either. Chips were individually packaged while the chips in the other bags had been in clear, fold top sandwich baggies.
Brenda turned to the small group of survivors. Because of their sacrifice not to eat, they were still alive. Some of them had watched loved ones die. Dirt covered a couple from head to foot like they’d rolled around in it while they slept. Dust bunnies and cobwebs clung to hair and shoulders. Slumped and without fight, defeat wiped the hope from their faces.
“Okay, I’m not sure, but I think some of this food might be okay to eat.” Nothing sparked on their faces.
A man with arms the size of dodgeballs busting from his tee-shirt winced. “I don’t want to die like that.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, unable to look toward the piles of death behind him. Brenda couldn’t help but allow her gaze to stray to the jumbled bodies. She shivered.
But they needed something and if there was a chance... “I’ll try some.” Even if it was poisoned, Brenda needed food. At that point, she didn’t really care. Her stomach was eating itself and next it would eat the organs around it. She’d be better one way or the other, food in her stomach or dead. But anything had to be better than where she was at that exact moment.
She pulled out a sandwich and inspected the packaging. No holes or small tears that she could see or feel. A glance at the rest of the group increased her courage, not much, but enough to open the wrapper and hold the food in her hand. Each person leaned forward, the shift in the circle palpable. Their eyes widened.
Raising the bread to her nose, Brenda sniffed. If it was rat poison, then it would affect her with a headache. But they needed a hole to get the granules inside the bag and she hadn’t seen any. Yeasty. Oh, for the love. She closed her eyes. Just do it. Take a bite. And before she could rethink it, Brenda tore the sandwich in half and stuffed one in her mouth. Go big or go home.
Chew. Chew. Swallow the half-macerated, half-dry peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich. She couldn’t open her eyes. For a second she was afraid it was a chemical reaction, until she realized she was just plain scared. Her empty stomach protested the sudden onslaught of food while welcoming it at the same time.
Okay, she was still breathing. Her heart rate hadn’t changed from the strong, fast, freaked out pace it’d held since her house burned down. A slight clamminess to her skin was the only difference, but that was more likely due to the nerves from the moment. Saliva returned to her mouth and she stuffed the rest of the sandwich into her mouth. Hell, too late now anyway and she was still hungry.
“Brenda? Are you okay?” Jenny’s hope raised her voice a few octaves.
Opening her eyes, Brenda wiped at the crumbs clinging to her dry lips. “Surprisingly. At least the sandwiches don’t seem to be poisoned.”
Andy coughed and spoke, his voice stronger, “The Brenda I know would have faked like she was dying just for a laugh.”
Smiles came a little easier with food in her stomach. “Some other time.”
The older man to Jenny’s left pointed to the bags. “Do you think they’re all safe?”
A woman, tears in her eyes and tracks down her cheeks shook her head. “But they’re all dead. How can we eat when they just died? Right here? Acting like nothing happened.” Her voice broke on the last word.
Brenda’s smile softened and her stomach clenched around the meager offering. “I know. It isn’t easy, is it? Imagine how I feel... the men lied to me about the food. I believed them and all those people are dead because I wanted to share instead of keeping the bad food for myself.” She let the reality sink in. “But I’m not going to roll over and let those bastards win. We need to find a way out of here. I’m not going to live like this until they succeed at wiping us out.”
Only two of the people nodded, the rest stared at the bags. “Obviously, we’re too hungry to plan anything. I think the sandwiches are probably safe. I checked the packaging first.”
Nobody waited for further encouragement. The sounds of rustling bags filled the small area they sat in. Brenda pulled open another bag and reclaimed her seat beside her brother-in-law.
She’d only be able to offer the soft stuff anyway. His mouth might be burned from breathing the oven-like air. He was lucky there hadn’t been any bronchial swelling or lung failure from the smoke-damage. Dime-sized, the bite she offered Andy wouldn’t hurt him and would barely make a dent in any hunger, but it was a start.
While Andy took his time chewing the small morsel, Brenda looked over the remaining Americans. Four women besides herself and eight men. No one over forty. The woman with the tears didn’t touch a bag, but continued to look toward the dead inhabitants.
Brenda tore off another piece. She had to figure out a way to get rid of the bodies.
Death from poison wasn’t pretty and she didn’t know how much had been used with how fast acting it was. Desperate people wouldn’t notice an odd taste. The bodies, though. Ugh.
“What’s the matter?” A crease between Andy’s brows looked like folded plastic with the sheen of the burned skin. His burns reminded Brenda of hers.
She tore another chunk. “They told me I have to get rid of the bodies, but I don’t know how to get rid of... so many.” The white bread held her gaze. What could she do? “Do I tell them?”
“I don’t understand what’s going on... ”
Brenda turned to the group and forced herself to look up from the food in her lap.
Bruised, his face half swollen and shirt torn, a man in his late twenties held up a hand like he sat in first grade, a sandwich in his other.
Open bags filled the spaces between them. Brenda didn’t want to live on PB and Js, but she didn’t have the courage to try anything else. She sighed. “I don’t either. But I think these... um...I was told to get a group together to get out the bodies, and I’m thinking that ‘group’ is going to be us.” She waved her hands around their small collection.
“I don’t want to move dead bodies. Not those or my aunt’s.” The man crossed his arms and tucked his hands under his elbows, his sandwich eaten in two bites.
If she couldn’t whine, then hell if someone else could. “I don’t either. But here’s what we have to do. First of all, suck it up. Things get worse before they get better. And we might have only one chance to escape and it might be moving the bodies.” Brenda couldn’t look at the prostrate group past the boundaries of the survivors. “Don’t look at the bodies. Focus on me one more second and then you can finish eating.” She spoke lower, her tones reaching the members as they leaned in. “We have to get free or we’re dead. Do you understand? We have to.”
The nods reached her but the tears on their faces burned. She pointed over her shoulder and called out, “I’m sorry. I wish we didn’t have to do this. I’ll figure something out. Any ideas would be greatly appreciated.”
~
HELL. HELL ON EARTH. Watching people die and then sitting amongst their dead bodies.
Worse? Not all of the poisoned were dead. Almost, but not quite, and their pain-filled whimpers sliced through the silence and echoed throughout the gymnasium.
Brenda hadn’t conjured up the courage to ask if any of the survivors had watched a loved one die. She didn’t want to know. A glance over her shoulder revealed one of the men she’d shared a sandwich with approaching a writhing woman on the floor. Crap.
“I have morphine for them. Would you mind passing it around? I need to finish cleaning his wounds.” Brenda passed the breakable capsules to Jenny. Brenda had reached her limit and used Andy as a cop-out to send a teenager to do a terrible thing. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t.
A Charlie horse clamped the palm muscles in her hand as she clutched a verified clear spot on Andy’s arm. She hummed under her breath to relieve her mind from the torrential cries bearing down on her, all around. Finally, she gave in and prayed those suffering would die soon. Die now.
“I know this is hard for you.” Andy’s words broke through her self-induced bubble. She focused on his voice and watched his face. “I’ve teased you about being abrupt and uncaring, but the truth is, I know you’re a very good nurse. I’ve seen it. And now I’ve experienced it. Thanks for bandaging me and fixing the wounds.” He offered a grimace Brenda accepted as a smile.
“I’m not very good. You were right. Everyone was right. I just don’t believe in sugar-coating things. Rachel was always good at that. Delivering news in a way that made you think it was all flowers and jewels, even if what she reported was schizophrenia or sociopathic syndrome.” Brenda’s sister, the perfect Rachel. “I tell it like it is and most people don’t understand that.”
“At least they understand what’s happening. Imagine the mind games the enemy would have us wrapped in then.”
Mind games. Rachel had said something about that once. “Andy, do you remember when Rachel left for the east coast?”
“Yeah, she came back warning us against using fluoride or eating Twinkies.” He laughed.
“No,” Brenda shook her head, “not the food, remember when she had those nightmares?”
“What nightmares?” Andy pressed his lips together, enhancing the cracks and scaling skin.
Brenda looked past his shoulder to the wall. She could focus on the static of the cement bricks. Easier to think without the trauma of his burns facing her. “Rachel used to call me in the middle of the night, crying, and saying things I used to think was nonsense about testing she’d had to design on what broke the human spirit. ‘Broken humans’ she’d called them. I can’t remember who ‘they’ were, but she couldn’t sleep for weeks, maybe months. I took that graveyard shift and she stopped calling me.” Why had she cried? “Something about kids with parents and siblings. When I’d finally gotten her to calm down, she’d shut me down before I could ask more about it, said it was in the past and that she didn’t want to think about it. What if this was the kind of thing she’d helped design?”
“Rachel?” Andy looked into his lap. “I don’t think she could come up with something like this. Not the Rachel I married.”
“Andy, Rachel can do anything. Anything. The second you stop giving her credit, the second she loses her respect for you. Don’t do that. And stop protecting her from everything. She knows things you’ll never wrap your engineer brain around.” If she could slap him without damaging his nerves, she would. Damn him. He’d always treated Rachel like she was a fragile princess and it drove Brenda nuts. And more than a little jealous.
Andy lifted his gaze to her, the steady focus unnerving. “You sound like you might like her.”
Brenda jerked her head back. “Of course I like her. She’s my sister. Why wouldn’t I like her?” Couldn’t accuse Andy of reading her mind.
He shrugged, his gaze unwavering.
“What?” And why wouldn’t she like her sister? She loved her.
“Things have been kind of tense for a while. Haven’t heard from you for a time.”
“I need to check...” She released his arm, her fingers stiff and unyielding. Standing, she didn’t know where to go.
Quiet. A stolen whisper here, a half sob over there. Brenda’s pulse quickened. Heaviness in the room as the remaining people left their bodies. Her countrymen. People she could have seen at the store or passed on the road. Poisoned like rats because the captors had bravado for everything but doing the job themselves. They weren’t even there to witness who lived and who died.
Wait. They didn’t know. Hadn’t checked. She squeezed the shoulder of the fellow survivor. He held a woman who shuddered in his arms. Brenda couldn’t focus on the dying woman or what she meant to the man.
The nurse in her screamed for justice. The spirit in her ached for revenge. What could she do? How did they help these people? How did she help herself with them? An idea played at the edges of her mind, on the fringe of shock and disbelief.
A woman pressed the eyelids closed of a younger man laid across the free-throw line of the basketball court. Hanging on the wall a “Go Trojans!” spirit poster striped like a tiger watched the action. Days ago kids had filled the gym for PE, maybe in between classes, and now it served as a jail for people who shivered into death as the poison attacked their nervous systems. Don’t think about it, Brenda. Focus. If you fail, they will fall apart.
She returned to Andy, determined to hold her emotions inside a vault locked away in the forest. If she could get free with all the living, maybe then she could search out her grief and release it. Whatever may be left.
Squatting beside him, Brenda whispered behind his ear. “I think we’ll have to use these to get out.”
“Use what?” Andy glanced from her face to the bodies.
“The dead people. We can say we’re ready to transport them. Or we could hide under the bleachers. Or we could try to slip out the side doors. Or the windows. I don’t know. But we have to do something. We can’t trust anymore food that comes through. We’re going to get sick if we stay in here with the corpses much longer. Something has to change and it can’t be more deaths. No one will make it past another trauma.” She turned her gaze to Andy’s face. The fire could have done more damage than the burns on the side of his neck. His ear was the worst on his entire body, but she’d glued it where it’d burned through the delicate skin and while it would be closer to his head, he’d still have it. Fortunately he could still hear and hadn’t lost any feeling in his skin or eyes. “Andy. We have to get out of here before grief cuts through the shock. Once that happens, they’ll be worthless and we’ll have to leave them.”
“Could you leave them? Even if you and I could get out, would you leave them to whatever fate is planned for them?” Andy’s voice carried.
“Don’t leave us. We’ll do whatever. We can do it. Their deaths can’t have been in vain.” A gaggle of five of the survivors huddled together feet from Andy and Brenda, bent half-way in the fetal position with their arms crossed over their stomachs, loss stripping their individuality. One aching mass.
Brenda approached the group. “I don’t want to. But if we don’t figure something out soon, we’ll be too sick to do anything, or they’ll make another move against us, or you guys will become incompetent in most everything but breathing. Some of you won’t even want to continue without your loved ones. Right now you’re in survival mode, but when it wears off – and it will wear off – what then? What good will you be?” The remaining five returned from the floor.
“Don’t leave us. Tell us the options and we’ll figure it out.” One of them said, but how could Brenda look closer than that? If she looked too close, her heart would break and she would lose her edge.
Tossing a glance at Andy, Brenda nodded. “Okay, but you’ll need to choose fast and you all have to agree. I can figure out the details, but only after you choose.” She waited for their nods. The worse thing? She knew what they would choose and she didn’t want to do it. “Options are, one, some play dead and we move the living as well as the dead out of the gym and wherever they plan on the bodies going. Two would be to move bodies but run as soon as we’re out the doors which could open up a slew of gunfire we can’t guarantee will hit or miss. Three, hide under the bleachers and hope they think we all died. And four, well, I don’t have a four, but I can come up with something that doesn’t involve staying here and waiting.” She watched them take in the choices she’d supplied. “I’ll give you a minute to talk it over and when I come back, we need something. Ask yourselves what the risks might be and how much you’re willing to risk to get out. I can’t guarantee it’s any safer out there, but at least we won’t be fed rat poison.”
She turned back to the group as they eyed each other. “And one more thing. If you’re thinking of maybe sticking it out here, hoping they won’t do anything more, check this out.” Brenda ripped her collar down, the untreated burn damp around the edges. “They branded me for the fun of it. I didn’t know anything, but I still got burned.”
Tension toppled onto the group’s fear. Decisions with consequences far beyond their scope of understanding loomed in immediacy. Option four was to stay and Brenda had offered the possibilities with that choice as well.
Guilt and sadness swamped her. She tried to offer a consoling smile, but found she had no consolation to offer.
Beside Andy, she struggled to hold in the exhaustion warring to claim her. Sleep? Only a word, a noun, a verb, but something she so desperately needed like oxygen. If sleep made its way onto the Periodic Table of Elements, would its letters be Zz?
“I’m letting them decide.” She glanced at the group deep in discussion, eyebrows lowered and hands gesticulating at waist level. Andy didn’t answer. Meeting his gaze, Brenda allowed her nonchalance to slip. “Andy, one way or the other we have to get out of here which means we need to find out if you can walk or what your limits are. Do your legs hurt? Are your feet injured?”
He shook his head, the effort to speak evident as he swallowed. “Hands. Leave me.”
His hands. Dang it. How could he move the bodies if he couldn’t do much with burned palms and fingers? Brenda would be able to help him up with his arms or under his armpits, but not much. Andy wasn’t a huge man but he was taller than Brenda and a solid fifty pounds of muscle heavier. The math wasn’t hard to figure out.
“I’m not leaving you here. Rachel would kill me. We need to figure something out. Think, Andy. You need to get to Rachel and the kids. What can we do to help you?” They had no access to crutches or a wheelchair, nothing that could remotely be used to at least get him out the doors and away from the range of guns. Unless... “Hold on. I know which way they’ll go, but I’m going to speed things along.”
Brenda returned to the group. “Did you make your decision yet?” Twisted expressions met her search. Of course they hadn’t. Brenda had seen adults come in to her hospital with the inability to comprehend the consequences of drinking and driving or unprotected sex. The captives wouldn’t be able to grasp the concept that no matter what they did some of them would most likely die. They were in shock and showing it.
She didn’t expect them to know which choice would be the lesser evil. The lesser gamble. Statistics she understood, but she’d never been good at gaming. Hopefully her luck was different when it mattered and she stood to lose lives not dollars.
She spoke loud enough for Andy to hear. “I’ll choose for you. We’re going to have some of us act dead and the rest will move the bodies. We have roughly twenty or so still alive. Our weakest survivors will be the... dummies and we’ll mix them in with the crowd. Two people need to carry one person. We’ll have to make multiple trips each to get everyone out. Some dead bodies will go out first in case they choose to check them. I’d hate to get anybody killed because we planned poorly.”
Brenda’s stomach ached. “I’m sorry. We need to get going. If you have loved ones, move their bodies to the back of the group so we don’t have to move them. I don’t know how much time we have before they come back.”
They nodded in jerky motions. One girl looked over her shoulder. “I think everyone is... gone.” She bit her lip and turned back to Brenda.
The dying. Poisoned. How had things gotten this far? Trapped and poisoned like rats. Dehumanizing.
“I’m sorry. I have nothing more for you guys than that. I wish I had thought of the possibility. I just... didn’t think they’d try to kill us.” Excuses offered to people who couldn’t defend themselves with her intentions. “Go round up what you need. Let’s get started.”
Walking the few feet to Andy, Brenda finally had something to focus on. “I’m going to have you be the fourth or fifth evacuated. That way you’ll have someone to help you but you can still lead the others as they come out.” Brenda fell to the rubbery wood floor and shoved her head into her shaking hands. “Andy, what am I doing? I can’t do this. I’m not a leader. I’m not someone people follow. Deciding for others? I’m a nurse practitioner. I handle the sick, not escape plans. What if more people die because of me?”
“Who’s died because of you?” His whisper cut across her low cries.
“Over eighty people, here in the gym. Can’t you see them? Unh... I didn’t think he would lie to me so blatantly. I didn’t think. I was too happy to get the food and supplies.” Brenda refused to give in to the craving to soak in her own tears, allow the release sobs would bring.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody elected you to be the food tester, the nurse or doctor of this place. You had to jump up and do what you did because no one else could. Their deaths are not your fault. It’s theirs.” He lifted a blistered hand and pointed to the exit. “We need to get out and there aren’t a lot of options. You’re providing us with something. We’ll take it or die. Do you think they’re going to keep us alive after the stunt you uncovered?”
Why would he be wrong in the whole mess of horrors they’d been subjected to – what made their circumstance special? “Do you think other people are being held? In other places...”
Her brother-in-law nodded. And Brenda decided maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Not many people would admit to the possibility of the worst without a whole lot of words to explain it away. She appreciated the simplicity of his answer. She didn’t want excuses, she wanted knowledge. And action. And escape. And damn, if she wasn’t going to get it.
Resolve bolstered her emotions, shored up her energy and blasted away the tiredness. “Let’s do this. I’m sure we don’t have much time.”
Everyone poisoned enough to die was dead. Brenda walked amongst them. An hour, maybe more, for the rest to suffer from the ingestion before succumbing to its effects. The living gathered in the corner beside Andy. Whispers and glances cast around, they tried to avoid looking into the bowels of the gym at the remains of loved ones and others they’d never known.
Brenda had to choose the bodies that would go out mixed amongst her charges. Somehow, someway, they’d become her wards. The people she was responsible for, regardless of what Andy said. The weight pulled at her and again, her stomach clenched. When she got out of this, she needed a toilet and bad.
A tall man caught her eye. In death, he gripped the fingers of a woman. Damn. Brenda recognized him as the one who’d wanted to take a lunch to his wife. She turned from their twisted fingers and faced the mass of victims.
The people she chose to take out first, she marked by crossing their right arm over their abdomens. Hard to miss if one looked for it, but spread out enough over so many bodies, no one without the information would pick it up. She and the few who would move them needed lighter bodies or their strength would be sapped. Some of them hadn’t eaten in days.
She approached the group, nerves clanging over the sounds of shifting life in their feet and whispers. “Ready? Because this is going to suck.”
Nervous laughter covered a few sobs and gasps. Brenda clucked her tongue. “I know, this is terrible. You want to grieve. But we need to survive first. Grief is a luxury at this point. Hold it in. Control it. Once we get out, and I promise we’ll get out, you can cry and scream and get revenge. But right now, we need to act.” Twelve would have to do the moving. Looking around the group there were only eight that were smaller, most of them girls. Andy would have to be moved and he wasn’t light, but the guys that made up the other half of the group looked to be capable and angry.
Anger she could mold and direct. Anger would do.
She pointed. “You and you will organize the bodies. We’ll do four dead ones first. Then, Andy, over there, next so he can be our watch as we move the rest. We’ll move another dead, then a live one. And alternate as we go so that the last one is you.” Brenda pointed at the smallest girl. “I’m sorry to have to end with the smallest. But we’ll have more energy at the start and can’t be dragging at the end someone heavier when we still need to run.”
Brenda met Andy’s gaze. “You think?” He nodded and she scanned the group. “Is everyone okay with this? Say now so we can reorder the plan. Or even say if you don’t want to be in on it. You don’t have to leave. I promise. You can stay here.” She doubted herself. Even she was allowed doubt. “I could be wrong. You might be safe here. They might have been weeding out the weak. Or...”
“Or looking for ways to get rid of us. Looking for ways to torture us.” Andy’s voice hinted at strength, even through the frail thread he offered to the group. “Brenda, you’re not wrong. And you know it.”
She tucked her chin. How did she answer that? She wanted to scream at them she was scared as hell that they were going to be caught. That she didn’t know what to expect. That maybe, just maybe, they were all going to wake up and this was just a terrible nightmare. But no, she wouldn’t do anything of the sort, because she had smothered the pandemonium sparking in their eyes. No way would she do anything to restart the coals.
“Everybody’s in? Okay, one last warning. When they come in to let us take you out, you can’t move. At all. You’re dead. They might kick you, spit on you, slam guns on you, whatever, but you must not move. If you move, you’ll really be dead. Do you understand?” The chosen dummies nodded their heads. Brenda wanted to shake them. Did they really understand? Did they?
“Separate. Let’s try to get this done in ten minutes.” A white corner of gauze packaging poked from beneath Andy’s knee which reminded her. “Does anyone have a backpack or bag?”
A battered bag passed from hand to hand. Brenda grabbed hold and nodded. “Perfect. Thank you.” A dead person could have donated it to the cause along with their life. She forced the thought from her mind.
While the group organized as Brenda had instructed, she packed up as much of the medical supplies she could fit. She wouldn’t be allowed to take them out but if she packed them on top of Andy under a coat and try to pass him off as a larger male, she’d be able to have them on hand. She hadn’t told him what she planned yet, but he’d agree it was smart thinking. She hoped.
“Brenda? We’re ready.” Jenny touched Brenda’s shoulder, her voice low. “Andy is in place and we used some extra clothes to cover up the others better including their faces. Are you ready?”
“Thanks, Jenny. I need this packed tight against Andy underneath his jacket, please.” Brenda looked to the doors. “I’ll go tell them we’re ready.”
Jenny took the bag without comment, but her eyes pleaded for answers and offered sympathy. Brenda faced the locked exit. What would she say? Would they come? She’d banged on the door and nobody had answered. What if they didn’t answer? Hell, what if they did?
She’d avoided thinking about this part of the plan, thinking she’d wing it because she didn’t know how to counter maneuver. Like chess. She always chose white because white usually went first.
Think like she played her knight against the rook. What would she do? She stepped forward. People claimed poker face, but it was better to say chess face. If you were a sneak attack or an aggressive player, passive offensive or conniving, you had to hide your strategy in your thought process, in your words, mannerisms. Chess. She could do this. But the urge to spit in Daniel’s face might be hard to overcome.
The doors had no windows. Her knock echoed in the small space beside the opposite bleachers from where Andy had holed up. Beside the water fountain. Brenda didn’t even want to chance drinking from the metal basin at that point. The bastards might have managed to tamper with the water as well.
She waited. An expectant hush hung over the gym. After another moment, she flattened her hand and wailed on the wooden panel until her palm felt bruised. Not more than fifteen seconds later, Gustavson, accompanied by two foot soldiers dressed in black and blank expressions, appeared. A minion, his hair short and his eyes clear, unlocked the door. He turned and stared at her.
“What?”
Brenda motioned to the supine forms spread around the dim gym. The lights hadn’t been turned on. Plexiglass windows showed shadows and shifting light, but no bright sun to hint at morning, noon or evening. “I think a virus struck us. The majority of the people are dead. We need to get the bodies out of here. I have a detail ready to do it, but we can’t get out.” Innocence contained clarity in her features. If he knew she suspected poisoning, he’d be on alert, but if she played her cards right, he might think he’d gotten away undetected and would be complacent for a while longer.
He nodded. “We’ll be out in five minutes.” The door clicked shut in her face and a jingle of keys called from the other side.
Five minutes. Jogging to Jenny, Brenda repeated the time for the group. Five minutes. What was she forgetting? What could she do to further protect them? Improve their chances? They had to get free.
But where would they go? When everyone got out, or even a fraction escaped, where would they go?
Brenda rubbed her forehead. A migraine shaped and nudged, cutting into the soft space behind her eye. She’d never been fond of responsibility and here she’d taken on a whole whale load. What was she supposed to do? Too many questions with too few answers. Screw it. From that point on, she’d do her best and hope and pray the consequences weren’t too severe.
Four minutes.