DUSK 2
“They were in my dream,” a wide eyed Jack repeated.
Helen broke Jack’s grip on her hand and leaned in close to his ear. She thought of Jack’s nightmare; how he’d been pulled back in every time he woke up. He’d been terrified, but couldn’t remember anything until now.
“Jack, you have to pull yourself together. You can’t let them see you like this.”
She’d lived most of her life hiding revulsion, shock, and terror. She’d needed the skill to survive and something told her that showing those emotions could result in the same deadly consequences now as revealing them when the messiah ordered her to crucify a heathen or fire on fleeing refugees. From a distance, Jack might have looked as nervous and weary as the other survivors, but if any of their hosts came close enough to hear his babbling, they would know something wasn’t right.
Helen snuggled her way under Jack’s arm and rested her head on his chest. He stayed silent, but didn’t relax either. While she tried to calm Jack, Helen figured she’d better blend in and appear as distraught and exhausted as the others.
After taking another look at the passengers in the other trailer, Helen eyed her surroundings. They were in the middle of a walled compound full of what used to be apartment buildings and shops. It was much like the settlement the others had left behind and it was similar to many settlements Helen had helped destroy. The tallest buildings Helen spotted were six to eight stories high. She estimated the population capacity to be around five-hundred. Judging from the size of the rescue team, Helen guessed that this settlement was actually a secondary colony and part of something larger. She wondered how far they were from the main colony.
About fifty yards behind them, Helen spotted a wall which likely encompassed the entire settlement. Beyond the walls, the moans of the undead were missing, suggesting that the ghouls had been culled perhaps years ago.
A guard tower stood maybe twenty feet high. The two guards were shielded but not completely hidden behind a metallic barrier, which looked like it was designed to provide cover during a fire fight on all sides. The bottom of the tower was composed of five pillars, a thick one in the center and four which stretched outward as they reached the ground. Without heavy explosives or a motorized battering ram the tower would be hard to topple. Though she only spotted one tower from her position, Helen assumed they were scattered around the walls and possibly throughout the compound. She spotted what looked like a fifty caliber machine gun poking over the far side of the barrier. It wasn’t the kind of weapon someone would keep out to fight zombies.
She remembered what their welcoming party had told them about a rebellion inside of their own ranks. Were these colonists worried about an attack or was there something more sinister at hand?
A jeep appeared from behind a two story building and rolled towards the line of guests and stopped ten feet from the head of the line. The soldier who’d been introduced as Sanchez stepped out of the driver’s side. He was followed by a man Helen didn’t recognize. The stranger was maybe in his mid fifties with grey hair cut in a short military fashion. He wore an olive colored uniform which was neatly pressed and had no stains of action. His boots were black and freshly polished, and his nose was long.
Sanchez spoke into the older man’s ear. The older man nodded then looked at the new arrivals.
“My name is Flint Olmstead and I welcome you to Genesis. Our aspiration is to plant the seeds of a new dawn for mankind in the ruins of today. As we reach out to others, I believe that we can make a better world than the one that existed before the end of death,” Olmstead took a deep breath and eyed the crowd. “I realize that you’ve been through a trying time and you need help. I offer you this town. You may stay here as long as you like and leave any time you wish but you must abide by our rules. For your safety, we’ve imposed a curfew for non-militia personnel from dusk until dawn. Within the boarders of Genesis, only the guards are allowed to carry firearms. I know some of you may have concerns about this measure, but I assure you that it’s been put in place for your own protection.”
Murmurs seeped through the crowd as Olmstead stated his rules. Helen felt her stomach drop as the older man mentioned the restriction on weapons. She’d hoped she’d get to hold her rifle again. Aside from her Mustang, it was the only object from her old life that made her feel safe. She’d committed atrocities with the weapons and it reminded her of her blackened soul, but she’d also killed the messiah with it along with several of his minions.
At the front of the lines, Sam looked like he wanted to speak out, but he bit his tongue. Helen wondered if he was being cautious or if he was overwhelmed by the situation.
Without answering any questions or further acknowledging his audience, Olmstead moved back towards the jeep, followed by Sanchez.
*
At Sam’s request, Catherine shared her quarters with Helen and Erica. They stayed in an old hotel room with two beds and a couch. The room was well kept with a recently vacuumed carpet and neatly made beds. The bathroom was clean and had running water. The toilet paper was even folded in a neat little triangle at the roll’s tail. The fresh scent of the hotel room brought Catherine back to a road trip she’d taken with her family when she was eight. In her weary state, Catherine almost believed she’d gone back in time. Almost.
Erica was asleep on one of the beds and Helen was in the shower. Both girls had been through hell, and Catherine hoped they would finally get some rest. The conditions of the hotel were a vast improvement over the cramped fortresses they’d left behind. Maybe their hosts would even help them rebuild their home in a few days. She wondered if she’d get a chance to mourn Rob’s death.
She hoped Helen would finish in the shower soon. It seemed like months since she’d last bathed, and a hot shower had been all that Catherine could think about since she saw the bathroom.
Her dream was shattered by a sharp knock on the door. Erica stirred, but didn’t wake. Before the intruder could pound the door again, Catherine hurried to the front side of the room and opened the door.
Sam stood outside of the hotel room. He looked like he hadn’t had a chance to bathe either.
“I’m going to meet with Franklin and Hunter. I figured you’d want to come as well.”
Catherine had lived in the temporary fortresses for a day or two longer than Sam, but she sensed that he’d wanted her to come along for other reasons. He avoided Franklin as much as possible. On occasion, Sam had expressed regret that politicians had not gone extinct when talking about Kyle Franklin. He held an equal contempt for Scott Hunter, but Catherine didn’t know why. She’d always been apprehensive about bringing up the subject with Sam.
She took one last look at Erica and saw the younger girl quietly snore. She stepped through the doorway, shutting the door and spun the room keys around her finger.
“Let’s go,” she said.
The hotel was three stories tall, but Catherine’s room was on the first floor. Outside the windows were barred and the doors were equipped with steel shutters. She assumed the fortifications were precautions in case the outside walls failed. Since the residents were not allowed to keep firearms, the idea was probably to keep the citizenry inside of safe locations while the militia eliminated the undead.
“The others got here first, so I think they got the nicer hotel,” Sam said.
“I don’t care if this is a Motel Three. As long as I get a hot shower, I’m happy.”
She looked back and saw Phil Harker leaning against the third story railing. Catherine waved, but the preacher did not respond. He seemed focused on something distant.
There was another hotel across the street, which Catherine assumed the rest of their people were staying. Instinctively, Sam looked both ways and checked the pedestrian signal on the long dead traffic lights before crossing the street. Since Catherine had been a teenager when the dead started to walk, she’d never developed the safe traffic behavior Sam displayed, let alone made a habit from it. As a cop she imagined that he’d seen his share of traffic fatalities.
Their silence persisted as they moved through the parking lot. When they reached the hotel, Sam pulled the lobby door open and stepped aside to allow Catherine to walk in before him. As soon as she stepped through the open door, a blast of cool, dry air hit her and Catherine shivered.
The help desk was vacant, but there were voices to Catherine’s right. She spotted Kyle Franklin and Scott Hunter sitting at a coffee table by the barred lobby window. Franklin sounded jubilant, but Scott seemed annoyed and worried. When they saw Sam and Catherine approach, their conversation ended and both men stood.
“I’m glad to see that you’ve both made it here safely,” Franklin said.
“Thank you,” Catherine said while Sam nodded.
“How long ago did you make it in?” Sam asked.
“Last night,” Scott said.
“Did they make you stow your weapons too?”
Scott nodded.
“We don’t need them any more,” Franklin said, “at least not for a while.”
Catherine thought of the Gunkels. They’d been an elderly couple who’d immigrated to the US from Germany in the mid 1950’s. Their son had moved back to Germany a few years before the dead started to walk, while their daughter had been killed in a riot shortly after. Albert Gunkel had been too old for the guard, so he’d decided to spend his days working in the munitions factory, while his wife, Elena pursued her life long passion for gardening. One night, Elena’s heart gave out in her sleep. She’d reanimated and killed Albert. The next morning, a concerned neighbor found the two reanimated corpses pounding on the inside of their front door, trying to get out. She wondered what kind of system this Genesis had in place for such events.
“I think it’s time we talk about rebuilding. I don’t like living on someone else’s back like this,” Scott said.
“Give it some time,” Franklin responded. “I want to get to know our hosts. It’s not every day we meet friendly, new people.”
“I don’t think I’d use the word ‘friendly’ to describe them,” Sam said. “They lock us up at night and don’t let us carry weapons. I’d say their our wardens.”
“Sam!” Franklin said. “Sure they have their own rules, but they’re giving us a place to stay and food to eat. What do you think, Catherine?”
In all honesty, Catherine didn’t know where her thoughts began on the issue. She’d been hoping to ride the argument out unnoticed, but Franklin was obviously fishing for an ally.
“We’d have died in a couple of weeks if they didn’t show up,” Catherine said. “I don’t know where else we could go.”
Franklin shot a “you see” look at both Sam an Scott.
“Besides,” Catherine continued, “if our hosts don’t have our best interests I mind, then we should learn as much as we can while we’re close to them.”
*
It had seemed like years since Helen had taken a hot shower and she didn’t want to leave. Without bothering to wipe the steam off of the bathroom mirror, Helen did a quick job of toweling and combing her hair. She snatched a night shirt from the towel rack and pulled it on. The garment hung loosely over her frame. She guessed that it was two or three sizes too big, but it didn’t matter.
Now that she was in a private room with furniture, Helen felt weary from the past days of sleeping on floors and huddling with the crowds. Her body ached and her back and neck were stiff. Helen moved out of the bathroom, intent on taking a nap on the unoccupied bed, when there was a knock on the front door. Before she could answer, the door opened and Ted and Jack stepped through.
“We just spotted Catherine and Sam walking across the street,” Jack said. “I think they’re meeting with the rest of our people. Do you want to join them?”
“If they talk about anything important, Catherine will tell me on the way back,” Helen said, rubbing her eyes.
Ted watched Erica sleep for a moment, then turned towards the dresser.
“Hey, you guys have a TV in you room.”
Helen had seen the box on the dresser, but really hadn’t thought about it. The cultists never used them.
When Ted turned the box on, the screen filled with black and white images of men in military uniforms charging through a field, brandishing automatic weapons. Mortar shells exploded all around them and nobody who died got back up. The action was obviously staged. The turned a knob and the picture changed to a strange man in a suit who talked about rations. Further turns turned the picture and sound into black and white static.
“Looks like we don’t have much to watch,” Jack said.
“They have a movie theater. We should all catch a show tomorrow,” replied Ted.
“Sure. Tomorrow,” Helen yawned.
Ted moved over to Erica’s bed and kissed the sleeping girl on her forehead. She stirred and he smoothed her hair.
“Good night,” he whispered and walked through the doorway.
When they were alone, Helen snuggled her way into Jack’s arms. He kissed her on the cheek.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.
“Good night.”
*
Sam and Catherine walked out of the hotel a few minutes before sunset; feeling like their talk had gone nowhere. At least they knew that the others were being treated well. Franklin seemed happy with their new situation. He seemed to be ignoring the fact that they were in this situation because someone attacked them. Had he forgotten about the people who’d died defending their home?
Catherine still didn’t know what to do. Only weeks ago she’d been a nurse and married to a true leader. Had Robert survived, she wouldn’t have needed to worry about what to do. Robert would have known. Though he’d been intimidated by General Hamilton, Franklin had always seen Scott and Sam as grunts who were supposed to carry out orders. He’d respected Robert.
Again, Sam checked the street for traffic before crossing. He said nothing on his way back to the hotel room. Perhaps he was too weary to think or perhaps he didn’t trust himself with words. When they reached the hotel, Sam turned to Catherine.
After a long pause, he said “good night,” and walked up stairs to his room.
Catherine watched him ascend and disappear past the thirds story railing before fishing her room key out of her pocket and making her way towards the door. She hesitated before unlocking. Inside, she’d be in the company of two other people. Outside, she was alone. The prospect of solitude was inviting after being confined to crowds. Besides, as the sun died, the night grew cool and pleasant.
She turned away from the doorway and moved towards the stairs. After looking up to make sure nobody was running down, Catherine planted her butt on the third step. The sun would be down in about ten minutes and she was right outside of her doorway, so Catherine doubted that she would get in trouble. If she spotted a patrol or nightly watchman, she’d duck under the stairs. She’d learned all the tricks when evading her parents in her youth.
As her eyelids pressed closed, Catherine leaned back on top of the other steps. The concrete was hard and the sharp angles of the steps pressed painfully into her flesh, but Catherine didn’t care. A few bruises were the least of her problems.
The sound of something being pulled along the ground disturbed her rest. Catherine looked up to see a dark form dragging itself along the ground, leaving a dark trail behind.
“Catherine,” the figure called.
“Robert?”
As her husband inched towards her, Catherine realized that he was injured.
“Stay right there, babe. I’ll come to you,” she called; worried that Robert’s struggle would make his injuries worse.
He kept dragging himself towards her.
“It’s okay,” Catherine said, eyeballing the slug trail of blood her husband left behind. He’d lost a lot of blood.
When she reached Robert, she turned him over and cradled him in her arms. His right arm reached behind her head and he stroked the back of her head.
“Catherine…”
“It’s okay.”
“Catherine,” he repeated. “You let me die!”
Robert’s grip tightened around Catherine’s hair and he pulled her close as his jaws shot upward.
Catherine tried to lurch away, but hit her head on a concrete step. She yelped and felt around for her attacker, but Robert was gone and Catherine was back on the steps where she fell asleep.
The sun was down and the mosquitoes were out. Catherine slapped one away from her ear and grunted as she sat up. She wondered how long she’d been out, but assumed no neighborhood watch had strolled along. Maybe it was time to slip into her hotel room and to lay down on the comfort of her couch.
Her head throbbed, but she supposed it was better than being devoured by the vengeful corpse of her husband. She wondered if she could have saved him even for a few minutes had she ran from the truck and pulled Robert away from the flesh eating hordes and if she would have been able to pull him away at all. His final screams and echoes for her to run played in Catherine’s head. She saw Robert’s head explode from the merciful shot a soldier in the back of her transport fired. She regretted not dieing with him.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the snarl of an engine and a pair of headlights with a jeep attached. The vehicle rolled into the parking lot across the street. The one attached to the other hotel. When they stopped, the engine kept running and the lights stayed on, but three men stepped out of the vehicle. Two of them strolled towards the hotel lobby while the other stood outside of the jeep, looking around.
Catherine considered ducking under the stairs but decided against it. The motion might attract attention and the strangers were looking for someone specific, not people loitering past curfew.
One of the men who walked towards the lobby pounded on the glass door – Catherine heard the report from across the street – and another figure stepped outside. She heard voices, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. They sounded relaxed and the man who stepped out of the hotel lobby sounded like Franklin.
They chatted their way back to the jeep and when they rolled away, Catherine leapt off the stairs and dashed for her doorway.
*
Franklin was weary from the last few days and wondered why his hosts didn’t want to meet with him in the morning, but he supposed that he should bend to whatever rules they wanted him to follow. After all, they were letting he and his people stay in their home. Perhaps there was a way Franklin could repay them.
The driver, who had been introduced as Vincent Bianchi, cut the wheel, turning the vehicle down another side street while Fox Mann, the other passenger in the front, cheered. Both of the soldiers were younger than twenty. The older man in the back was Dominick Buckingham. He was perhaps forty and weathered. Crows feet extended from the corners of Buckingham’s eyes and a thin scar about three inches long lined the left side of his face, while the other side was peppered in age old puncture wounds. Though he was the oldest of the three hosts, Buckingham was the burliest. His shoulders looked like the could have been wider than both of the other men’s combined and Franklin doubted that he could wrap his hands around Dominick Buckingham’s arms. Despite his scars and size, the older man maintained an air of dignity and a distinguished profile.
“So you’re their leader,” Buckingham said.
“You could say that. I control everything but the military and since we’re meeting new people I guess I’m in charge of diplomacy,” Franklin said.
“Good. Since we’ve discovered your colony, Olmstead wants to find out if you can specialize in producing something in exchange for our crops and other supplies.”
Franklin was glad he was right about their hosts. Sam and Scott had the best interests of their people in mind, but their views were so grim. They seemed to think that everyone who was outside of their society was out to get them. They were ready to hatch a plan to escape from people who only wanted to help.
They chatted about little things, including the weather, until the jeep stopped outside of a parking garage, which was connected to an eight story office building. A young guard stepped out of a toll booth and Bianchi rolled the window down. Without saying a word, the guard looked at everyone inside of the vehicle and waved them through.
They rode up to the third story and Bianchi parked the jeep. The two younger soldiers said something and snickered.
“Can it!” Buckingham snapped.
Mann got out of the jeep and opened the door for Franklin. He thanked the young escort. Before Bianchi could do the same, Buckingham was out of the jeep and walking towards the building. Without being told, Franklin followed the larger man. The younger soldiers stayed with the jeep.
“He’s with me,” Buckingham told two soldiers who stood by the door, and they stepped aside for their superior. “They’d open the door for us, but they don’t have a key.”
After fishing a key ring out of his pocket, Buckingham thumbed around the ring until he found what he was looking for. He slipped the key into the lock and opened the door, allowing Franklin to walk in first.
A window was visible at the end of the hallway, but there wasn’t much to see. Because there were few lights outside Franklin assumed, most of the people seemed to be asleep of many of the buildings were unoccupied. Perhaps there was nothing better to do during the curfew than sleep.
They walked side by side until they moved halfway down the hallway.
“Olmstead and some of his officers are in here.”
Buckingham opened a door for Franklin. When he looked inside, Franklin saw a room that was empty save for a tray table and what looked like the electric chair he’d seen in text book pictures, only the frame was metal instead of wood.
Why would they have Old Sparkey in a meeting room? Where’s the table?
Before he could turn around to ask his questions, Franklin felt a hand grab the back of his head. His face shot towards the door jam, which met the side of his skull with an explosion of pain.
*
Franklin blinked away the darkness and wished he’d been dreaming. His head throbbed from the blow. The two bright lights shining in his face didn’t make him feel any better. He tried to shield his eyes from the light, but realized that his hands were strapped to strong, metallic chair arms. He tried to turn his head, but that was restrained as well.
“You received a transmission from another colony before all of this started. We believe you sent out a party to investigate a cure they’ve advertised.”
As Buckingham spoke, Franklin closed his eyes and swallowed a puddle of drool that formed under his tongue.
“My superior has questions about your mission, and I’m hoping you’ll be kind enough to answer.”
“Why didn’t you just ask at the start? I’d have told you everything I know,” Franklin said. “We sent a team of eight to investigate and only two came back…”
“Who were they?”
Why am I telling him? Why does he want to know?
When Franklin didn’t answer, a petite, elderly man stepped forward. He wore a grey apron, yellow gloves, and eye glasses. His hair was held back by one of those hair nets that kitchen workers used to wear. Maybe they still did somewhere.
The old man lifted a knife from the table and cut the front of Franklin’s shirt open. He tore the garment away, revealing Franklin’s bare chest. After letting the knife hover for a moment, the old man pulled it away and reached for something else outside of Franklin’s field of vision.
The old man’s arm reappeared with a metal rod that glowed orange. For the first time, Franklin heard the crackling of fire. The old man trusted the rod, striking Franklin’s chest and pressed down. Franklin screamed. His arms and legs wanted to kick and flail, but they were held still by the restraints.
“Sam Paterson and Jack Smith.”
The old man removed the rod and looked at Buckingham, eagerly waiting for instructions, like a dog watching his master wave a tennis ball.
“Tell me about them.”
No, Franklin thought. Then his eyes traveled through the old man with the still orange, hot rod. No matter how he tried to resist, they would break him. Telling them everything up front would be best. Besides, when they found out the mission was a bust, they’d have no reason to go after Sam or Jack and they didn’t have to know about Helen.
“Sam’s forty-two years old. He was a rookie cop before the dead started to walk. Since then he’s become an excellent officer. Jack’s been a soldier for just over a year, but he has potential.”
“What do they look like. Where are they staying?”
“They’re rooming together. Sam’s about my height and black. His hair isn’t grey yet. Jack’s nineteen, brown hair. They came in on the second load.”
“Good. Now what did they bring back?”
“Nothing, the mission failed.”
“I thought you knew what would happen if you lied.”
“I’m not lying, I swear.”
The old man returned the rod to Franklin’s chest. Again Franklin screamed. His hands stiffened into a claw, clutching air. His legs strained against the restraints and as his arms tried to move, the leather straps dug into Franklin’s wrists.
“I’m telling the truth. Sam told me they didn’t find anything.”
The rod stayed on Franklin’s chest, searing the flesh into blackened charcoal.
“They must have taken it!”
Buckingham waved his hand and the old man pulled the rod back and his hand disappeared. Perhaps he tossed the rod back into the oven.
“They?”
“The people who attacked the colony. Sam told me there was some sort of a cult. They’d left nothing but mutilated corpses. They’re the ones who killed most of the team.”
“I told you not to lie.”
“No! I told you everything I know.”
The old man again pulled the rod out of the fire and branded Franklin’s right nipple. He cried out.
“They brought back a survivor!”
The old man pulled away the rod.
“Her name’s Helen York. She’s staying on the first floor with Catherine Thorn and a girl with a broken arm. She belonged to the colony before it was attacked.”
Buckingham and the old man walked towards the door and beyond the lights. They spoke in hushed voices and Franklin could not hear what they said. After a moment, Buckingham walked out and the old man returned.
“Thank you for your cooperation,” he said. “You have been most helpful.”
The elderly man reached over to the table. His hand moved towards Franklin’s face with a Styrofoam cup.
“It’s okay,” the old man said. “Take a sip.”
Franklin sucked water from the glass before the old man pulled it away.
“Can I go now?”
“In a moment. I just have to make sure you won’t tell anyone what happened.”
His hand disappeared in the direction of the fireplace and returned with the rod. He probed Franklin’s face, singing the hair off of his eyebrows before thrusting foreword into Franklin’s right eye. Franklin screamed as the old man pulled the rod away and plunged the orange stick towards Franklin’s left eye, forever turning the lights out.
Franklin tried to scream but his mouth was full of scorching metal.
*
“This can’t be good,” Lou Sanchez said.
He stood on the eastern wall, looking down on a horde of the undead. They’d culled the ghouls away from the gates years ago, but left groups of them in secure sections, overlooked by walkways on top of twenty feet high and three feet thick walls. There were no rails to prevent onlookers from falling into the hands of the undead below. The spots had been designed for intimidation and they worked perfectly.
“Just stay calm,” Sobczak said, “and don’t fall.”
Chambers chuckled. Although there was no railing to prevent onlookers from falling onto the undead, there was a railing behind them to keep them safe from a fall inside of the walls. Chambers casually leaned against the railing, smoking a cigarette as though they were gathered for a lunch break.
When Buckingham appeared, Sanchez spotted Mann and Bianchi dragging a body behind them. He didn’t get a good look at the corpse’s face before they tossed it over the side for the undead, but he did see the torn shirt and revealed chest. Even in daylight and up close, Sanchez doubted that there would be enough of the victim’s face leftover for him to recognize. If they hadn’t burned away the features, they’d probably kept the body from reanimating with a large caliber round to the head. Lou had never seen the inside of Olmstead’s interrogation centers, but he had seen some of the horrors that came out.
While the undead hungrily groaned, feasted, and fought over scraps Olmstead appeared and walked past Buckingham and his stooges. He chose the unprotected side of the walkway, indifferent towards the feeding frenzy below. He was careful to maintain a six foot space between himself and Sobczak.
“Sobczak,” Olmstead said, “you were supposed to oversee the search of the colony and bring representatives over, not every fucking rat in the complex.”
“Sir, I figured the representatives would be more receptive if their people were safe and I thought it was better if I made the first contact.”
“While you were out, the search team was attacked. We didn’t take any prisoners and two of the fuckers got away. How do we know that one of them isn’t in here right now? How do we know that they’re not planning to attack us again?”
“Sir, do we even know it was them?”
“The dead aren’t known rebels, nor did anyone identify the remains.”
“Do you think these people are in a position to attack us?”
“Congratulations Mr. Sanchez. You’ve been promoted. Now throw Mr. Sobczak over the side.”
Chambers grinned and aimed his gun at Sobczak, perhaps hoping the doomed man would win the struggle, leaving the promotion to him. Buckingham raised his gun at Sanchez, incase he didn’t fallow the order.
Grant grabbed Sanchez by the collar and attempted to bash his head into the railing, but Sanchez stomped on Grant’s foot. Lou then drove a fist into Sobczak’s gut, forcing the wind out of his comrade’s lungs. After that, Lou didn’t have to push. Grant Sobczak stumbled backwards and plummeted over the side.
The undead moaned louder and Grant shrieked, but Sanchez refused to watch.