The Girl Who Punched Back: The Death Fields Read online

  Hayes, the Fighter from the ring, sits watch at the back of the vehicle, weapon ready. Without looking over he says, “A rotating crew comes out every day and eliminates the threat. We’re pushing the perimeter of the fort back--reclaiming ground.” He points up ahead. “That gate just went up last week.”

  I crane my neck to get a view out the side flap. We’re queuing up to cross through a second guarded fence line and gate about three miles past the original one.

  Jane has a lot more going on than I’ve realized. More capable bodies and grander ideas. It’s all logical. All of it makes so much sense. Cleaning out the infected, making larger and larger swaths clear. Expanding her territory. I guess the uneasiness I feel in my gut is that I’m always one step behind with the enormity of her plans.

  “Do all these workers and fighters live at the Fort?” I ask as we pass a group erecting part of a fence.

  Hayes glances over at me as though he’s just seeing me for the first time. “No. We’ve been renovating inhabitable space between here and there. We’ve got barracks off-site now for some workers and Fighters and soon we’ll be moving more into outer housing.”

  So that’s where everyone has been. I knew the numbers seemed off inside the actual fort. Honestly, I feel a lot better knowing people are being productive and not just lab rats for Jane and my dad.

  The vehicles roll to a brief stop as we pass through the gates. We have three trucks packed with people and supplies. As the gate rattles and slides shut behind us I nudge Hayes and ask, “What’s it like where we’re going?”

  “The team has gone down to the clinic to secure and prep the area. They’ve cleared out as many Eaters as possible, but there’s no guarantee.” he replies.

  “How long will it take to get there?”

  “It’s about thirty miles away. So anywhere from an hour to three days.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Jude says with a bright smile.

  Hayes shakes his head and tenses both hands on his gun. “We’ve cleared the roads out to the clinic but that doesn’t mean we won’t hit a snag.”

  The ride is quiet and our view mostly obstructed. If you’ve survived this long, you know keeping a low profile is important, but that doesn’t settle the anxiety building in my chest. Maybe I should have stayed back at the fort. What was I thinking, begging to go on this mission?

  “You okay?” Jude whispers in my ear. His eyes are on my hands, which have turned white from gripping my hatchet. I exhale and loosen my fingers.

  I nod. “I think reality is sinking in.”

  “You’ve been out recently, though.”

  “Yeah, but I’m learning that my patrols were in a pretty controlled setting. They’d cleared most everything out of there before letting me go.” He gives me a confused look. “You know the director is my sister, right? She approves everything I do. Those patrols were just a way of keeping me busy.” And from asking too many questions, I don’t add.

  His eyes widen and I see they’re a nice shade of green. “Oh, you’re related to The Director?”

  “Yep.” I fake smile and cross my fingers over each other. “We’re super close.”

  The truck comes to an abrupt stop, causing all of us to crash forward, sliding hard into one another. Bags and weapons clatter to the ground and everyone scrambles to hold on. Before we’re upright, Hayes is ready in an instant, only saying, “Be prepared,” before disappearing out the back opening.

  The truck’s motor rumbles loudly, but over the noise I hear the tell-tale screech of an Eater and the pop-pop of gunfire. My gut sinks and Jude’s hands turn white, gripping the base of this weapon.

  “Hold on,” I say before popping open the flap and sucking in a breath of not-so-fresh air. Exhaust and smoke coat my lungs, not to mention the rotting scent of flesh.

  Crap.

  I scan the scene and ascertain that we’re on the access ramp to the highway and cars line the sides of the road, pushed there intentionally, probably by the Fighters themselves. Eaters have blocked the road and spill from the smoking woods beyond the barrier of cars.

  Perfect. We’ve hit a snag.

  “Shit,” someone curses a few feet away in the truck.

  “What should we do?” Jude asks me. Why me? God, I have no idea, other than I don’t want to die.

  “You have your weapon?” I ask. He nods, and I glance at Parker and the others. They each hold up a variety of weapons, from guns to pipes to the craftily designed pieces we picked up in the R&D lab. “Get ready to use them.”

  An explosion rocks the truck before anyone can respond and someone yelps in surprise.

  “Open the roof,” I shout, and two recruits jump to their feet, unzipping the canvas top with nervous, shaking hands. I stand to get a better view and break into a cough. The smoke is thick but I can spot dozens of Eaters as they scream and stumble toward us. The front truck is completely blocked. A flank of Fighters including Wyatt, Davis, and Hayes stands between us and the infected, the front vehicle under Walker’s command. She holds a massive gun, picking off the infected before they make it to the car. A lump forms in my throat watching Wyatt on the ground, but he’s a force of nature, quick and fierce. His job is to take out the ones that get through the barricade, to my dismay, with only a knife.

  “Stay in the truck,” I command, although I doubt that will be a problem. “But if any of them get past the line don’t be afraid to take them out.”

  They come in waves—screaming, hungry, waves. Well-placed bullets stop many, but there seem to be an equal number that miss, and the Eaters stumble forward. Wyatt and other skilled fighters handle the assault from the ground and from my spot in the truck I watch as he stabs and slashes the incoming infected with a sharp blade. He has to get them in the brain, neck or heart to finish them off and he accomplishes this over and over again until dark, foul-looking blood coat his hands and face. Two mid-sized Eaters pass him by and ear-splitting shots fire from our truck as he gouges the eyes out of child-sized Eater. The bullets miss the infected, who lumber in our direction, but Wyatt reaches for his face and I realize he’d nearly been shot.

  I turn to the recruit, wide-eyed with fingers on the trigger and knock his gun to the side. “Watch your fire! If you can’t hit the right target, find another weapon.”

  He lowers the gun and grips the handle of a spiked bat instead.

  “Wyatt,” I scream, pointing to the next horde coming over the barricade. He and the others are dead if they don’t get off the ground. My voice must have gotten through because he pauses and shouts a command. The others on the ground fall back and I spot Hayes leaping into the truck in front of us.

  Wyatt moves like a cat, movements quick and fluid. Two Eaters are fast on his trail, grasping at the air behind him. I swing the hatchet and crack open the skull of a gray-faced, filthy man. He falls to the ground in a heap, only to be replaced by another. Her rotten breath rolls across my face and I fight off a gag. I hit her on the side of the face and a tooth flies out of her mouth. She howls in response, rattling my brain—it’s been so long since I’ve been out here, since I’ve killed, but my body reacts on impulse, like smashing skulls is second nature.

  She lands face down and I catch sight of a shiny purple band around her wrist, like the kind you get from a bar or a concert. This life is surreal and crazy.

  Nails scratch on the canvas top, pulling me from my thoughts, and the stench of rot mingled with our sweat grows overwhelming. My ears ring from the discharging guns and as I heave the blade from the side of a decaying neck I say a quick prayer of thanks for the cardio my sister forced me into or I would have given out within minutes.

  “Walker!” Wyatt shouts. Her head snaps in our direction a second after she decapitates the Eater closest to her. He does some motion over his head, a circle or something. She glances around the area and sees the bigger picture. We’ve got to get out of here, before the next wave makes it worse. Right now at least we’re surrounded by more dead bodies than live, a
nd the fallen make enough of an obstacle for us to get away.

  “Let’s roll!” she screams, disappearing under the canvas top into her seat and the engines rev back up.

  Wyatt settles in next to me, covered in sweat and grime. My hands shake as we bump into and grind over the fallen and still-attacking Eaters. When the trucks get to a steady pace, I ask, “What the hell was that? I thought you guys had been out here!”

  “It’s a big world, Alex, that is what everyday life is like out here. There’s no guarantee of safety.”

  “But that…that was crazy. Where did the smoke come from? Was something on fire?”

  “I don’t know.” Blood trickles down his jaw toward his neck and he claws at it. It’s impossible to tell what blood belongs to him or to the Eaters he killed.

  “Let me look at that,” I tell him, digging a cloth out of my bag. The truck lurches and I slide into Jude He pushes me upright.

  “I’m fine,” Wyatt says, looking out the back window, back tense and on alert.

  I glare at him and he sighs, turning to face me. I wipe the blood off his cheek and push his head back to get the goo pooling in his neck. There’s a fiery red line on the skin but it doesn’t look broken. I brush my finger over it and he flinches.

  “Someone nearly took my head off with a bullet.” He eyes the recruits suspiciously. Everyone glances down or away.

  “Well, I think you’ll be okay.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “You’re welcome.” I sit back in my seat as the trucks roll along more smoothly. Through the back window I can see the occasional car or truck pushed to the side of the road, but the remaining Eaters are far behind. I brush my hair out of my face. “When was the last time Jane sent out a crew to clear the area?”

  “Just yesterday. None of those Eaters were out here. The fire either. We’re going to have to come back to check it out.” His jaw tenses and I can spot the wheels turning in his head.

  “Any idea where they came from?”

  “A couple.” I wait for more but he clams up.

  The rest of the trip is uneventful, but we’re shaken silent from the harsh reality of what we’re stepping into. When the trucks finally slow to a stop I can’t help but stick my whole head out the window to see our destination. No one gave us any details or description of the clinic and I’m surprised when I spot the building.

  “A highway rest area?” I say, grabbing Wyatt by the arm, stopping him from walking off.

  The building is in the middle of nowhere, brick with minimal windows. The few at the front of the facility are already secure with metal sheets. Jane has sent a crew out to fortify the perimeter with paneled fencing that surrounds the expansive parking lot and green space. Mobile housing units and tractor trailers sit in the oversized parking spots. It’s such a familiar place—something we’ve all passed by or used a million times. It’s kind of perfect.

  “Whose idea was this?”

  “Walker. She was actually stationed at one of these as an emergency center at the beginning of the crisis.”

  “I’m impressed. It’s far enough away from heavy populations but it has the functionality we need.”

  He nods and we both watch the large gate slide shut with the help of three fighters. “It could work.”

  “You have doubts?” If Wyatt is worried, we should all be worried.

  “I think it’s as good as it can get. We don’t want something bigger to defend. At least not yet. The plan is to bring in small groups at first, assess them and give them the vaccine.” He scratches the scruff of beard on his chin. “Fixing this disaster is going to be a slow process.”

  “Not your style?”

  “Slow?” He gives me a sly grin, revealing the softer side of Wyatt I got to know on our journey, when it was just the two of us. I miss him. “Not typically.”

  “Listen up!” A voice calls from near the front of the building. “Everyone needs to check in at the front desk. You’ll receive housing and work assignments and an overall briefing on how this facility will work.”

  Wyatt lifts his pack and slings it over his shoulder. He accidentally brushes against the wound on his cheek and grimaces.

  “Get that checked out.” I remind him.

  He grabs the strap of my backpack and tugs me toward him. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

  “That’s what we do, right?”

  He nods and slips into the crowd, apparently not required to get in line for instructions. A pang of sadness hits me when I’m alone and I wish Cole could be here with me. I’m hoping he’s not too angry we left him behind.

  Chapter 12

  At the Clinic, we fall into a quick routine encouraged by a meticulous schedule posted in the entrance of the Welcome Center’s lobby. Everything from sleep to meals to bathroom breaks are hyper-organized around our daily work rotations.

  We’re put straight to work. There’s no time to ease into this job. Walker puts me, Jude, and Parker on nightly patrol walking the perimeter of the fence line. The three of us move quietly through the dark, fifteen steps apart, while a pair of veteran Fighters sit up high in a crow’s nest scanning the distance for the infected, survivors, or anything else that moves.

  The Fighters have different protocol for each situation. The survivors come into a secure quarantine area before they can mingle in the group. Individuals infected are picked off by sharpshooters. Swarms or hordes require a more tactical approach to take them out. We haven’t crossed paths with any hostiles, military or otherwise, but the tension in Wyatt’s jaw tells me he’s on the alert. Something is bothering him.

  At first, I’m excited about the patrol, but then I realize the more experienced Fighters are keeping us busy and out of the way. I’ve had nothing more than a glimpse of the few survivors that have come into the camp, and have not been allowed anywhere near the mobile unit designated for the actual clinic and vaccinations.

  “Ramsey,” I hear, whispered in a smooth, southern accent. I glance back in the faint moonlight and see Jude nod in the fresh Fall air. The nights are kind of peaceful, and I’m surprised at how quickly the edge wears off. I lag a little and he speeds up until we’re closer together. We walk quietly together for a little while until he starts talking.

  “Did you see that the first group of inoculated left today?”

  “I saw the truck leave. I knew there were some people on it.”

  “Yeah, I was on trash detail when it happened. It looks like most of the survivors that came in this week were loaded up.”

  “Where did they go? Did you hear?”

  “Back to the Fort, maybe?”

  The pieces of Jane’s plan are slow to appear. So far, nothing seems amiss. We really are helping survivors that are in desperate need of food, shelter, and the vaccine.

  Maybe, I consider (not for the first time), that Jane is right. I have trust issues.

  We walk a little farther and Jude speaks again. “Back in the day, my mom used to drive me to school and every morning we’d listen to NPR—you know, the news station?”

  “Yeah, I know. My mom did the same thing.” I quietly hum the tune to the morning show and he smiles.

  “One day, we heard this thing about a storage facility in Norway. It was filled with seeds. Hundreds of thousands of seeds.”

  “Seeds?” I ask, trying to listen to him and also keep watch for sounds outside the fence.

  “Yeah, all these varieties. Some were no longer in use, others were pretty common. Fruit, vegetables, trees, plants…everything.”

  “What were they storing them for?”

  “Now. The end of the world. War. Famine. Drought. In reality, I think they expected that it would be for something a little more like climate change, you know, when the common varieties no longer produced because of weather changes or some other extreme events. Something they’d have more notice about.”

  “And it’s in Norway?” Norway is a long way from here. I’ve started to understand I’ll probably never even
go back home to North Carolina, much less travel overseas.

  “Frozen under the ground. After some failed attempts, they found that environment the safest way to make sure they weren’t contaminated or ruined.”

  I slow even more, so we’re walking at the same pace—totally against protocol. “Are you telling me you want to go to Norway, Jude?”

  He snorts and covers his laughter with his hand. “God, no. I’m just thinking that whomever had the bright idea to store the seeds in Norway probably never really thought about the world being taken over by rabid monsters, making it totally impossible for anyone to get to or use those seeds ever again.”

  “I suspect the guy who had that bright idea is probably now a rabid monster himself.”

  “Or he’s living in that underground facility, totally unaware of anything happening on the other side of the world.”

  We walk a little further and I spot Parker’s shadow across the small, grassy area. She bends down on her knee. “It does make you wonder how many other people are in underground bunkers or storage facilities or make-shift forts like PharmaCorp.” he says. “My best friend’s dad drove a truck for PharmaCorp.”

  I glance over. “Oh yeah?”

  “He was on the road when shit hit the fan. Unless PC has another Fort out there…I don’t know if I’ll ever find out what happened to him.” He sighs. “Not that he has anything to come back to.”

  “Your friend is--uh, did they make it?”

  “Nah. Or his mom.”

  “Same happened to my best friend.” I push the memory of Liza out of my head. It hurts too much to think about it; besides, my nightmares like to keep those memories fresh when I’m alone at night.

  “So how’d you get so good at this?” he asks, holding his weapon with ease. I’ve noticed this about him. He’s familiar with guns—from hunting—and handling them doesn’t make him nervous, but the Eaters freak him out. They’re unpredictable and certainly not afraid of us the way a deer or other wild animal would be. We’re lower on the food chain now, and it’s definitely unnerving.

  “I didn’t have much of a choice. One minute I was a super nerd about to graduate high school, thinking about my roommates and what comforter to buy at Bed, Bath, and Beyond and if I had enough AP credit to skip Intro Biology, and the next my mom and I were alone, setting off on a three-state journey to find my dad and sister. On foot.”