Wake To The Dead, page 18
The rest of the notices were the usual type; missing husbands, missing children, desperate pleas to connect with mothers and fathers.
There was one other notice, however, that caught Marcus’s attention. It was posted by a group of survivors who were requesting a working vehicle. They offered a similar reward of rations, but also offered guns and other weapons as part of the trade-off. There was a photo of the survivors standing huddled together, arm-in-arm, and smiling. And each one of them was holding a gun.
Marcus raised his eyebrows in disbelief. What idiot would drive into that situation? It wasn’t long before he came across one of his own notices. They were pretty easy to see. Marcus had used bright red paper for his signs, and written his messages in bold, black letters. He felt a horrible tug in his chest as he read his own writing.
ATTENTION: MATTHEW VINES. IT’S ME, MARCUS. MEET ME WHERE THE TIGER SITS. I WILL BE THERE EVERY WEDNESDAY FROM 1PM TIL 2PM. IF YOU CAN’T BE THERE ON WEDNESDAYS, THEN LEAVE A NOTICE THERE, RIGHT WHERE I USED TO STAND. I WILL NOT STOP LOOKING FOR YOU. I LOVE YOU, BRO. BE SAFE.
It was an easy message for Matt to decipher. Marcus had worked as a bouncer at the Black Tiger bar for the last four years, and Matt was there almost every Friday night. Marcus would always give his younger brother free drink cards as soon as he stepped through the door, and made sure he got into a taxi before anyone else at the end of the night. They were good times. It was during those years that he and Matt really bonded as not just brothers, but good friends. Matthew had gotten himself a steady girlfriend, Jessica, almost three years ago now, and the two of them would get drunk on Friday nights at the Tiger and party on the dance floor till the early hours of the morning.
Marcus would spend any free moments he had talking and laughing with Matt, then put the two of them in a cab when it was time to go home. If he was too busy, one of the other bouncers would do it. They all knew Matt, and they liked him as well, so it wasn’t any trouble for them to look out for Marcus’s little brother.
Everybody liked Matt.
He was a tough guy, but he never showed off or caused any trouble.
He told terrible jokes that nobody laughed at, and smoked a little too much weed on occasion, but he never really made any enemies, and he always treated women with the utmost courtesy and respect.
There was only a three year age gap between Marcus and Matthew, but Matt had always looked up to Marcus, as if he was so much older.
God, I miss you, you little shit.
Marcus held back his emotions. He pushed them deep down inside with all of his strength, trying to keep his focus. But every time he looked at that name in big black letters, in his own handwriting, he started to feel like he was sinking into a bottomless pit.
There was no response to his letter.
Marcus went further along the wall and spotted another two of his own notices, but there was no response to those either.
Today was Monday.
He would have to wait another two days before he made his way back to the Black Tiger bar to check if Matthew had been there. He had a strong feeling that it would be a wasted journey; he always got that feeling. It still wouldn’t stop him from going. He had to believe that Matt was still alive. He had already lost both of his parents. Matt was the only family he had left, and the thought of losing him too was just …
Marcus turned away from the noticeboard and rubbed his chest. He had to switch his mind back into survival mode before his thoughts became too heavy.
I’ll find him, he told himself. No matter what it takes. I’ll tear this city apart, if I have to. But I’ll find him. And with that, Marcus headed back to the van. He didn’t bother checking the shops in the multiplex buildings. Those were some the first places to be cleaned out, and he already checked them with Jamie and Sarah weeks ago. There was nothing left here to salvage. When he got to his van, Marcus pulled out a map of Port Angela from the pocket of his jacket, and carefully unfolded it. The sections of the inner city that Marcus had already visited were marked in yellow, and potential looting opportunities were circled in blue. The red squares on his map were places that Marcus had visited, but would never set foot in again. The red marks meant that the area had a high level of infected activity, or was currently dominated by hostile survivors.
He shifted his attention to the blue circled areas, and decided that an area close to here, on the west side of Paladin Street, would be a good place to try his luck. The area had two grocery stores, a pharmacy, and a hardware store called Digby’s that may not have been looted.
With the decision made, he folded the map and slipped it back into his jacket pocket, carefully securing it with a zipper.
Maybe today I’ll be lucky.
Marcus was about to open the door of his van, when something made him freeze, and listen. It was a sixth sense reaction that he couldn’t explain.
He suddenly felt like he wasn’t alone.
He let go of the door handle and moved quietly past the front of the vehicle.
It was at that moment that he heard two gunshots in the distance.
Gunfire wasn’t uncommon in this crazy aftermath. In fact, it was so common that Marcus had become accustomed to hearing it. He had even stopped wondering where the gunshots came from, and who was pulling the trigger.
These gunshots, though, were only a couple of blocks away, and Marcus was sure he heard the screams of a woman, and maybe a child.
Normally he would just move on, not bothering to investigate, but the gunshots were coming from the area he was planning to explore and going in blindly against armed survivors wasn’t a great idea. He needed to know more. Instead of climbing into his vehicle, Marcus turned back and made his way to the narrow street on his right, hoping to get a line of site to Paladin Street, to see if he could determine where the shooter was heading.
As he turned into the street, he suddenly stiffened, then immediately took two steps backward. About half way down the narrow arcade, staggering between the broken and battered storefronts, was the dusky shadow of a human figure.
The lack of light in the street made it difficult to see if it was male or female, but it definitely walked on two legs, and was heading straight towards him. He raised his baseball bat and edged forward, leaning into the wall of a ruined pawn shop, and getting ready to send a zombie head flying from its shoulders.
But it wasn’t a zombie.
As the figure stepped into a well-lit part of the walkway, Marcus could see that it was a young woman, very much alive, but seriously dazed and disorientated.
She was the first Goth he had seen since the beginning of the apocalypse.
Her jet black hair had been tied into long pigtails that fell to her waist. Tattoo’s covered her left arm and part of her chest. She wore a spiked dog collar around her neck, and had matching spiked leather bracelets on her wrists. Other than those three accessories, she was completely naked. Marcus lowered his bat, but not all the way down. People were often more dangerous than zombies in these strange times.
Even naked people.
The young woman could be luring him into a trap. Marcus had seen situations like that before. A seemingly helpless female, pretended to be confused and scared, while her fellow survivors lurked somewhere in the shadows, waiting to pounce on any gullible soul that went to her rescue.
These were desperate times, and most people would do anything to secure new supplies. The city had become a cesspool of paranoia and greed and, since law enforcement was a thing of the past, the new world had become a playground for potential criminals. People did whatever they had to do to survive. Murder and theft were just a normal part of life for many of these groups now, and morality was a virtue that had already been forgotten, buried somewhere beneath the ruin of a once prosperous city.
So Marcus watched, and waited, staying out of sight of the approaching female. She hadn’t seen him yet, or so it seemed anyway.
When she got within a few metres, Marcus stepped out from behind the building. The young woman jumped in surprise, and took a few steps back. She was either genuinely startled, or one hell of an actress. She raised her fists as if she was ready to fight. She was unarmed and visibly trembling, but she didn’t back away any further.
“Who the fuck are you?” she asked, her voice surprisingly steady. She looked Marcus up and down, as if to size up her opponent. Her eyes shot to the sturdy aluminium bat he was holding, and she tensed up like a cat, ready to pounce in any direction.
Marcus took a closer look at her while she stood there. He was the one holding the bat, so he had the upper hand at this point, and he wasn’t in any hurry to attack her. Not unless he had to. He noticed that her mouth was bleeding, and the right side of her face was swollen, as if she had taken a serious beating. Her pale white skin was glistening with sweat, and there were several bruises on her arms and legs.
There was a fierce intelligence behind her bright green eyes, but Marcus sensed that she wasn’t looking for any trouble. It seemed like trouble had already found her first, and she was just trying to stay alive. After a tense few seconds, he lowered his bat all the way down to let it hang by his side.
“My name is Marcus,” he said. “And you?” The girl didn’t answer his question. She continued to study him, her eyes occasionally flicking to nearby garbage piles, perhaps searching for something she could use as a weapon. “Where are your clothes?” he asked her. “What happened to you?”
Her fists came down just a little as she gawked at him curiously. “Why don’t you tell me, motherfucker,” she hissed. “And where are my girls?”
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “What? How the hell would I know where your clothes are?” He took a small step forward. “Girls – what girls? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The young woman shifted uncomfortably, but never dropped her eyes. It was then that Marcus noticed that her legs were shaking uncontrollably. She was struggling against the urge to fall down, doing everything in her power to hide how weak she really was.
“Stop staring at my pussy, you fucking pervert!” she spat. Her voice had lost its power and had a husky sound to it. Her whole body was shaking now. She could barely hold her fists up. She was about to drop, and Marcus knew that her brave words were completely hollow. She was doing everything she could to save face, but her body was failing her.
In a bold move that Marcus hoped he wouldn’t regret, he lowered his baseball bat to the ground and stepped back away from it. He raised his hands to show his empty palms in surrender. “Take the bat if you want,” he said calmly. “You need something to protect yourself with. I’ve got a couple more at home.” He kicked the bat towards her. The girl’s eyes went wide as the bat tinkered and clunked along the concrete, and finally came to rest at her feet.
“You look like you’ve been through a meat grinder,” Marcus added. “Get some help if you can. As for your girls, whoever they are, I hope you find them.”
He turned and headed back toward his van. “Not all of us are bad guys, you know,” he threw over his shoulder.
“Miranda!” the girl said suddenly.
Marcus stopped in his tracks and turned.
“My name is Miranda.” The girl fell hard on her knees, the last of her strength abandoning her. She put her hands on the concrete to stop herself from falling flat. She didn’t even look at the baseball bat that was lying a few inches from her fingers.
Her body convulsed, and she began to dry heave. Marcus hurried over to crouch beside her. He took a bottle of water from the inside pocket of his jacket, and unscrewed the lid.
“Here.”
He put the water bottle on the ground beneath her lowered head, so she could see it. Miranda took the bottle slowly, with a shaky hand. Marcus grabbed her arm carefully, and helped her to sit upright. Miranda guzzled half the bottle of water, choked, spat up, and then chugged the rest of it. She dropped the empty water bottle onto the ground and burped, then turned to look at Marcus. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue, and she took long slow blinks as her consciousness began to fade. “Stop staring at my tits.” she whispered, then passed out in his arms.
17
The Empty Mirror
Sarah was standing in front of her bedroom window when she heard him approach, staring blankly out at the world beyond the warehouse. She wasn’t looking at anything in particular, or having any deep thoughts. She was just staring for the sake of staring. Her mind was empty.
He made a sound from the doorway like he was trying to clear his throat, letting her know he was there, watching.
“I’m not going to jump,” she said calmly, without turning around, “If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Glad to hear it,” Father Gordon replied in a kindly voice. “You would most certainly be missed.”
Sarah folded her arms on her chest and continued staring. Only this time, she shifted her gaze to catch his reflection in the window. “I’m not angry,” she said, calmly. “I just want to know why you stole them.”
Father Gordon took a couple of slow, careful steps into the bedroom, as if he was walking a tightrope. “Stole what?” he asked.
Sarah took a deep breath through her nose, then let it out slowly.
I’m not angry. I’m not sad. Everything is just fine.
“The pills, Mr Preacher.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled at him, now that their eyes had met in the window’s reflection. “You took the box of medicine from the drawer of my bedside table, and I want to know why?”
Father Gordon looked down at the floor and fiddled with the sleeve of his robe. “I – I – S–SMELLY ASSHOLE – PISS ON THE ASSHOLE!”
The priest patted his left arm and shook his head repeatedly, trying to shake off his sudden outburst. Once he had calmed himself, he timidly raised his eyes to the window again. “I took them because I wanted to make sure that it was the right medication for your pain.”
Fumbling through his robe pocket, Father Gordon pulled out the slightly damaged box of pills. He opened the box and retrieved the foil packet from inside, then held it up to show her. “As it turns out, these pills don’t belong in this box at all. This is not pain medication, but something else entirely. See, the foil packet is yellow, and the names don’t match up either.”
Sarah turned around to face him, unfolding her arms. She looked at the packet the preacher was holding up in his hand, then stepped closer to inspect it.
Father Gordon took a step away from her, keeping enough distance to make sure she couldn’t grab them.
“I’m not going to take them from you,” said Sarah, tilting her head and smiling politely. “What does the name say on the inside packet?”
The priest shrugged helplessly. “I’ve never seen it before, and I can’t pronounce it, but I think it’s some kind of strong anti-depressant. It doesn’t even look like it was made in a pharmacy. All the printing is uneven, and there is no use-by date on it.”
Sarah nodded. “I see.”
She knew that Father Gordon wouldn’t have taken those pills unless Marcus had instructed him to do it. She hadn’t known him very long, but she knew enough about him to know that he wouldn’t risk facing the consequences of stealing something from her, unless he had the all-clear from Marcus. And since Marcus wasn’t around at the moment, there was no way Sarah could negotiate her way into getting those pills back, unless she took them by force.
I’m not angry. I’m not sad. Everything is just fine.
She wanted those pills.
Everything the preacher said made sense, and there was no denying that the medication wasn’t for her pain. But those pills, whatever they were, gave her a feeling she had never experienced before. A kind of euphoria, that made her feel pleasant, and numb. They took away her sadness and her sense of helplessness. They provided her with a sweet emptiness that she could never achieve on her own.
“So I guess it would be crazy to ask for them back?” Sarah said, sliding her hands into the front pockets of her jeans, and pouting.
“I’m afraid so,” said Father Gordon stiffly. “Please forgive me, but I was asked to look into your current state of health, even if that meant crossing a few lines. It’s not something I would normally do. I would never take something from someone unless—”
Sarah’s lunge caught the preacher off guard, and if he hadn’t stumbled backwards, she would have snatched the pills right out of his hand. What followed, was a desperate struggle between the two of them, twisting and shuffling across the bedroom, with Sarah’s eyes locked savagely on the pills she was trying to recover. The priest was stronger than she had anticipated, and managed to keep the medicine away from her, even as they wrestled and thumped their way down to the floor.
But the floor was Sarah’s territory.
Marcus had spent six months teaching Sarah how to fight on the ground. He had always insisted that most fights end up there, and taught her a range of techniques for overcoming her opponents with various locks and holds, and how to use her body to force them into helpless submission. She remembered those ground techniques as if she had learnt them yesterday.
As the priest pulled away and tried to get to his feet, Sarah switched her hips to get behind him, then locked her legs around Father Gordon’s waist, pulling him down on top of her. She then looped an arm around his neck and laid back, stretching his abdomen out with her legs, and tightening her arm around his throat. The rear naked choke.
Father Gordon gasped and dropped the pills as the air went out of him, then started clawing desperately at Sarah’s arm. Sarah kept the choke hold on, even as she saw the pills lying close by. A kind of madness took over, and the thrill of triumph began to course through her veins.
It wasn’t until Father Gordon’s hands began to weaken, and his body started to go limp, that Sarah realized what she was doing.
Oh, my God!
Sarah released her grip and pushed the preacher away from her, suddenly horrified by her own actions. She stood up and backed away from the struggle, putting her hands over her mouth, and staring wide-eyed at the old man gasping on the floor.
