Foamers (11 page)

___________

Grace sat against the roof with her eyes closed. Her breathing was slow and even.
Kade
stood, surveying the pink hues of the morning. He didn’t want to wake her; a long
day awaited her. Besides, he had enough on his mind.

Victoria had chosen to leave with strangers instead of staying with the cohort. Kade
retraced everything that had happened between him and Victoria from the beginning,
when Damian had first brought her to meet the family. Right from the start, Kade
and Victoria had been as compatible as a rhinoceros and a redwood. It wasn’t that
they didn’t get along; they just got along better when left to their own habitats.
She continually looked down on him for his anger and lack of motivation, which in
turn made him lash out at her vanity and dependency on others. Their relationship
was a tense truce, where Damian was always asking each of them—without telling the
other one—to watch what they said. That tension carried into the Primal Age, and
Kade had treated Victoria like a worthless egghead when he should have been treating
her like their greatest long-term asset. No one else in the group could do anything
about the foamers on a medical level.

Now he was stuck hoping that Damian would ride in like a white knight and save the
day. He couldn’t help but wonder, had he been willing to have her conversation, would
she have stayed. He wished he knew what she wanted to tell him. Letting her go had
been a mistake.

He wondered if he’d made the wrong choice by refusing to join the Tribe. They’d promised
protection and food, and that was already more than he could offer. He felt arrogant
for having made an executive decision, as if his opinion mattered more than anyone
else’s. Tiny insisted that he was the leader, but he didn’t feel like it was his
right to make that choice for all of them. Victoria had probably made the right choice.
So far, he had gotten Lucas killed; lost X and Ashton; and now Victoria had deserted
them. From his original group, he had three people left. Half of the people he was
charged with protecting were gone.

He wished he knew if Ashton and X were alive or dead. At least then he could put
his desire to search for them to rest. He lifted the rifle scope to his eye and made
one last scan of Houghton’s campus. He stopped when he came to the bridge where Tiny
had encountered the foamers. Taking his eye away from the scope, he rubbed his eyelid.
He tried to tell his body he wasn’t tired, but every muscle was sluggish.

Another sunrise without Ashton.

Kade put his eye back to the scope. The female foamer was right where they’d left
her, but the big hoss was missing. He leaned the rifle against the corner of the
roof and pulled the walkie from his belt.

“Tiny. Roof, please,” he said.

By the time he attached the walkie to his belt, Tiny shuffled through the door,
wearing a sleeping bag over her shoulders like a shawl.

“Why’s Grace sleeping on guard duty? Kind of defeats the purpose.”

“She figured out how to build a fireplace that won’t burn the dorm down, but it’s
going to be a hell of a job. So she’s resting. There’s only one body on the bridge.”

Tiny stormed over, her black hair flowing like an angry spirit, and snatched the
rifle. Her face grimaced as she searched for the spot, but then dropped into confusion,
and lastly, a smile.

“He must have had a thick skull if that bullet only grazed him,” she said with a
shrug.

Kade went to the south side of the roof, hoping to see a shiny silver sports car
pulling onto the campus. Tiny approached and rubbed his shoulders. He shrugged as
her fingers dug into the cold knots of his back. No one had brought the subject
of his missing sister to him, and for that he was thankful. If someone suggested
they send a search party, he would have to deny the request, which would be a roundabout
way of admitting that Ashton and X were dead.

Tiny’s fingers drilled into Kade’s neck. “What are we trying to get done today?”

He ran a hand through his greasy hair, feeling it stand on end. “I don’t know.”

Tiny spun him to face her and pressed a finger against his lips.

“You
can’t
not know, even if you don’t know. Everyone is hanging on by a string.
You need to be strong. There is nothing you don’t know. Understand me?” she said
in a low voice.

He could only stare into her large brown eyes and think of her warm finger against
his cold face. She removed her finger and smiled at him.

“We’ve got faith in you. Have it in yourself.”

“Grace will be working on the furnace. She’s going to need some help with that. Maybe
force Mick to work with her. Then the two of us can start clearing buildings,” he
said.

“Forgetting someone?”

He cocked his head to the side. Victoria was gone now.

“The new stray.”

Shit.

He’d forgotten about the sock.

“Grab me a beer,” he said, and took off running. He flung the door and leapt the
first section of steps. Landing with bent legs to absorb the impact, the sound of
his feet echoed down the flights. He scrambled three steps at a time while fighting
to control his balance.

He hoped the kid hadn’t puked in the night and choked on it. Grabbing the exit door,
he pulled himself forward. Slamming his shoulder on the doorframe, he spun off the
impact and kept running. Doors whizzed by as his muscles pumped with every long stride.

Death by sock. Kade didn’t think that would be a fitting first kill for him. He
opened the door and found Argos waiting with a wagging tail. Rushing past the dog,
he went straight to the lanky kid lying spread-eagle on the bed, mumbling something
to him.

Kade grabbed hold of the sock and yanked it clear of John’s mouth. John’s chest heaved
as he sucked in a lungful of air and his tongue stuck out like a panting dog.

“Air, sweet air!” John cried.

Tiny stepped into the room with a can of beer and tossed it to Kade. “What did you
do to the stray?”

“He put his gosh darn sock in my mouth. You guys are crazy,” John said, throwing
his head back on the pillow.

Looking at Kade with narrow eyes, Tiny cocked her head to the side. “Your sock?”

“It’s been four hours,” Kade replied.

Her eyes went wide as she gazed at John. “Tough little son of a bitch.”

Kade cracked open the beer and grabbed the hinge of John’s jaw, keeping it open.

Pouring a steady stream from a foot above John’s mouth, Kade tried to stay accurate.
John thrashed his head, covering himself and the bed in beer. Kade stopped pouring
and took a swig for himself before handing the beer to Tiny, who finished the can.

A geyser of beer spewed across the room as John spit up. “Are you trying to kill
me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want rubbing alcohol to get rid of the taste,” Kade said.

“Trust him, stray, he did you a favor,” Tiny said.

“Can you please take the handcuffs off? I have to pee,” John said.

“What are we going to do with him?” Tiny asked, picking the keys up off of the dresser.

“If he wants to live, he’ll find a way to be useful,” Kade said.

* * *

Tiny took John into the room where they were storing their weapons. The room held
a haphazard supply of items. The beds were covered with bladed weapons; the bows
and crossbows hung in the closets; shotguns and rifles lined the walls; handguns
and ammunition filled the two dressers.

The loss of Mick’s cop car during the Wilson brothers’ attack had destroyed a large
portion of their police weapons, and, more crucially, the ammunition for those weapons.
Most of what they had now was from the sporting goods store, which left them with
an abundance of bolt-action rifles and pump-action shotguns.

“Pick a gun,” Tiny said, presenting the room to John.

John stepped into the center of the room, staring in awe like he did the one and
only time his parents took him to Hershey Amusement Park when he was a kid. He hadn’t
shot a gun in years. Admittedly, he was excellent with a bow, but Tiny had told him
to pick a gun, and he didn’t want to look stupid by asking her if he could take a
bow instead. If she had wanted him to take a bow, he figured she would have included
that in her orders. He picked one of the police assault rifles, and, not knowing
what else to do, waited for his next set of orders.

Tiny went to the dresser and retrieved a box of shells. “You understand giving you
a gun is a huge leap of faith? I don’t honestly think we should, but Kade believes
you want to be part of this group.”

“I do,” John replied.

“Good. Then don’t do anything to make us regret giving you a gun. Hand it over; I’ll
load your magazine. Go to the next door and grab some gear,” Tiny replied.

John handed it over and left the room, wondering what reading material had to do
with a gun.

* * *

John stood at the steps to the infirmary, which was located across the main road
from Lambian Hall. Beside him, Argos growled, his eyes trained on the glass doors.
John felt as if he had come to the prom dressed casually. He was wearing everyday
clothes, while Tiny was decked head-to-toe in black spandex and was wearing a combat
harness; Kade was in cargo pants, long-sleeved under armor, and a cross-strap of
shotgun shells.

John’s heart raced as his vision went black. He shoved the bike helmet that was obstructing
his view back on his head. His rifle, unbalanced in one hand, swung toward Kade and
Tiny.

“Stray, watch where you’re aiming,” Kade warned.

John jerked the gun back, and, unsure where to point it, rested it against his shoulder
like he was a plastic army man. He didn’t think now would be a good time to tell
his new friends that he hadn’t shot a gun in years, and besides, Tiny was so hot
he didn’t want to look like a fool. How hard could it be?

Kade and Tiny shared a nod, and Kade swung the door open. Argos rushed inside, with
Kade and Tiny following behind.

The door swung shut. John tried to move forward, but his legs felt as heavy as cement.
The fear of being unable to prove himself to his new group had him frozen. Straining
against the invisible weight, he fought toward the door but couldn’t gain an inch.
He let go of the rifle with one hand and wiped beads of sweat from his brow.

Tiny stuck her head out the door. “Stray, come on!”

His feet unglued and he practically fell on his face as he rushed into the infirmary.
Beyond the entrance were two sealed security doors and a broken receptionist’s window.
Argos’s nose was plastered against the base of the door, sniffing in deep draughts.

Adrenaline pumped through John as the door opened. He let out a scream and pulled
the trigger.

The door slammed shut as Tiny grabbed the barrel of John’s rifle and pointed it at
the ceiling.

“Stray, it’s Kade,” Tiny said, as Kade cautiously opened the door, letting Argos
into the next room. “And turn your safety off before you have to shoot something.”

John’s eyes searched the length of the barrel and down the stock of the gun. “Where’s
that?”

“Do you know how to shoot a gun?” Tiny asked, placing her thumb on a toggle and flipping
John’s safety off.

John wiped the sweat from his brow again. “Yes. Just not this kind.”

Argos’s bark sounded from the other side of the door. The other two entered the lobby.
They were in a semicircular room with three hallways leading away from it: one left,
one right, and one straight ahead. Argos barked down the center hallway, his hair
stood on end.

Foamers emerged from every room along the hallways.

The dim emergency lights made it impossible to tell how many foamers there were,
but the corridor danced with shadows. Kade knelt by the entrance while Tiny aimed
over him. John couldn’t move one step inside the door.

John’s heart climbed into his throat. The shadows of the monsters had him fighting
for control of his bladder. He had only seen things like this in movies, and never
did he think he would be living the scenario.

When an actor died in a movie they didn’t die in real life. This wasn’t a movie though,
and John feared he would die. He didn’t want to die. He wished he hadn’t volunteered
to help clear the buildings. In limited knowledge he thought this would be a safe
job, but nothing was safe anymore.

He didn’t want to die.

The sounds of the foamers echoed down the hallways and collected in the lobby. Their
growls and cries challenged his bladder control. How people could make those sounds,
he didn’t know, but he did know he was shaking. The door was right behind him, he
could still get away, but he knew Tiny and Kade were his future. If he walked out
the door he would have to keep walking into an unknown and dangerous world, but if
he stood with them, he would become one of their group.

He didn’t want to die, but his best chance to live was to stick with these two warriors.

Tiny looked like a black marble statue as she rattled off three round bursts down
the hallway. Her finger kept a smooth rhythm as she squeezed and released the trigger.

A shrill scream erupted with each blast of rapid gunfire. The sounds the foamers
made as they died sounded entirely too human for John. Tiny was shooting people.
John fell to his knees and fought his swirling stomach. The edges of his vision flashed
black. Forcing himself to breathe through his nose, he fought the urge to vomit for
as long as he could.

The solid thump of the shotgun discharging into flesh at close range was all it took
to break his hold on nausea. He watched his liquidized Pop-Tart spill from his mouth
and across the lobby floor. Coughing and spewing, he cleared the remaining viscous
liquid from his mouth. With watery eyes, he looked up to see Argos bounding at him.
John ducked; his plastic helmet cracked off the floor, and he placed his forehead
in his own vomit, sending another wave of gags through his stomach.