Caldera 9: From The Ashes Read online

  Buck nodded as he slid his pistol back into its holster. “I’m still trying to figure out how Simon worked his way into their group.”

  “Does it matter?” Hatcher coughed and tried to spit the taste from his mouth. “How does anybody live with that kind of stench?”

  Buck shrugged. “You tend not to notice your own stink.” He shot Hatcher a crooked grin. “Ask me how I know.”

  “I had a dog with parvo once,” Hatcher spat again. “That smells a helluva lot like what leaked out of that pup.”

  Buck stiffened. “How do we get them out?” He raised a brow at Hatcher. “Trying to go after them on their own turf would be suicide. We can’t know how many are in there or where they’re hiding.”

  Hatcher turned around and pressed his back to the warming block wall of the grocery. “The only thing that comes to mind would be dangerous.” He looked up at Buck and shook his head. “We’d have to lure them out with one of us as bait.”

  Buck nodded slowly. “Kind of what I was thinking.” He stood taller and took a deep breath. “But we need more shooters.”

  “Agreed.” Hatcher pushed off the wall and turned back toward the compound. “So we go home, collect anybody who can squeeze a trigger and we come back.”

  Buck placed a hand on his shoulder and slowly shook his head. “We only need to kill Simon.”

  “You buying that whole story that he’s leading them?”

  Again Buck shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He glanced to the sky then back toward the store. “If there is a cure out here, the others deserve a chance.”

  “They attacked us last night. They killed Big Mike and a handful of others. Maybe even Roger.”

  Buck lowered his eyes to the ground and pursed his lips. “And if they’re infected, they can’t be held responsible.” He looked up again; his face was stone. “But Simon? He warranted a death sentence before he was infected. He damned sure warrants one now.”

  Hatcher hated to agree with him, but the kid made sense. “Anybody ever tell you that you’re wise beyond your years?”

  Buck chuckled. “Not even close.”

  Andre Broussard sat back and rubbed at his eyes. “This isn’t making sense.”

  “Perhaps you need rest?”

  Andre shook his head at the medical officer. “I’m sure we both do, but I need to isolate what’s causing Kevin’s…er…Dr. McAlester’s infection.” He glanced again at the man’s name tag. “Dr. Miller, is it?”

  The medical officer nodded slightly as he prepped another sample for DNA analysis. “Am I doing this correctly?”

  Broussard glanced at the tray and nodded. “Yes, that’s fine.” He stood and stretched, his eyes instinctively searching for the coffee pot. “I need a refill.”

  “And me as well.” Dr. Miller shut the door on the machine and stepped back, rubbing at his neck. “And about fifteen hours of sleep.”

  “Agreed.” Broussard poured two cups then sat back at the workbench. “I truly appreciate your help.”

  Dr. Miller sipped the bitter coffee and sighed. “You are more than welcome.” He took another sip then set the mug down. “To be honest, for the most part I hand out antibiotics and ibuprofen. Occasionally on a really busy day, I might even hand out a cream for a rash. To me, this is rather exciting.”

  “I feel I’m missing something. Something simple.” Broussard took a long swallow from the mug and went back over his notebooks. “Do we have the printout on his last bloodwork?”

  Dr. Miller spun in the chair and pulled a sheet from a pile. “I believe this is it.”

  Broussard went over it and shook his head. “This isn’t…this can’t be right.” He pushed the paper away and wiped a hand over his face. “I really wish that Dr. Chaplain was here.” He turned and gave his colleague a tight lipped smile. “She had the uncanny ability to think creatively. She could redirect my thinking when I began to chase things obsessively down the rabbit hole.”

  Miller stared at him a moment then slowly stood. “Let’s try that, then.” He paced slowly, his hands crossed in front of him. “What do we know?”

  Broussard began to tick off certain points. “We know that Kevin…er—”

  “The subject.” Miller gave him a quick nod.

  “Right. We know that the subject was the first to be exposed to the cure.”

  “And he hasn’t been exposed to the original virus, so it must be something with the cure,” Miller added.

  “Correct.” Broussard stifled a yawn. “And since he’s been exposed, we’ve seen no other symptoms.”

  “Other than anger and madness.” Miller continued to pace. “So we can be relatively certain that it was exposure to the cure that has caused this…”

  “Psychotic break?” Broussard sighed. “Who are we kidding? This isn’t a mental thing. He’s infected with the rage virus.”

  “But his scans came back negative,” Miller added hopefully. “So it can’t be the original virus.”

  “Which is worse,” Broussard groaned. “That means that the treatment that will cure the Zeds will cause the uninfected to act infected.”

  “Not necessarily,” Miller added quickly. “You were exposed, as were the majority of the men aboard this vessel. To date we haven’t had any other cases of—”

  “But the, er, subject was the first to be exposed to the cure.” Broussard sighed and pressed his forehead to the cold metal workbench. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  Miller stopped pacing and eyed him. “Is it?” He began to roll up his sleeve. “As I recall, I caught that strep variant almost immediately. Probably from all the men coming into my office coughing and complaining of sore throat.” He held his arm out. “Test me. See if I share the same viral sample as our subject.”

  Broussard’s brows knitted. “What are you thinking?”

  Miller sighed. “I know it’s a longshot, but what if your cure, or a very small portion of it, is mutating in the vats? Changing before it ever gets a chance to be applied to the environment?”

  Broussard’s eyes widened. “A mutation within the treatment itself? Without environmental influence?”

  “It’s possible, isn’t it?”

  Broussard stared at him open mouthed. “I…I don’t know.”

  Miller held his arm out again. “Let’s find out.”

  Broussard reached for the syringe then froze. “I have a better idea.”

  Miller raised his brows. “What’s that?”

  “Let’s test the vats.”

  “Don’t touch that,” Simon hissed as he pulled his wounded arm away.

  The female glared at him as she reached out and took his arm in her hand. “It needs to be cleaned.” She bent her head and licked at the seeping wound.

  Simon stared at her for a moment then shook his head. “I don’t think that’s how you should do it.”

  She slapped her other hand to his chest and held him down while she licked at the wound. Simon stopped struggling and watched her, an arousal forming in other areas.

  With his good hand he reached past her and squeezed her bony ass. She ignored him and continued to clean his wound. Once she was satisfied that her job was done, she sat up and looked around the small area. “We should cover it.”

  Simon smiled as he tugged at her shirt. He ripped a filthy piece of cotton from the bottom and handed it to her. She glanced at it for a moment then pressed it over the open wound.

  Simon hissed at first, then howled as she pressed it harder. He gripped the top of her jeans with his good hand and squeezed as she continued to press the cotton into the wound. He could swear that he could feel bone fragments crunching as she applied the pressure, and once she leaned back, he fought to catch his breath.

  “Sleep now.” She rolled off him and he slapped at the side of the dog food bag, searching for the bottle. She pushed it closer and he gripped the cap with his teeth. “Stinks,” she commented as he sucked down the contents.

  “It makes my head feel better,” he pan
ted as the pain continued to throb in his upper arm. He fished for the bottle of pills and almost whimpered when he came up empty. “Find me pills.” The look in his eyes was more of begging than ordering.

  She rolled off the bag of dog food and stretched. She glanced toward the aisles then shook her head. “Where?”

  He lifted the bottle and pointed toward the rear of the aisles. “Small box. About this big. Bitter pills inside.”

  She disappeared into the store and Simon collapsed back on the bed he’d created. “And hurry.” He could feel the alcohol start to take effect and his eyelids drooped. He lifted the bottle once more and took another long pull before setting it gently on the floor next to him.

  He closed his eyes slowly, just to rest them a moment before she returned. He fully intended to give her a ride before he called it a day.

  Sleep overtook him instead.

  5

  “How’s he doing?” Hatcher asked.

  “In and out.” Candy sniffed back an unshed tear then turned a hateful look to him. “Where the hell have you been?”

  Hatcher avoided her gaze. “I went to track them down. We found where they’re hanging out during the day.”

  She gave him a surprised look. “We?”

  “Buck followed me out there.” He held a hand up to stop her. “I tried to send him back, but it turns out the kid is a pretty good tracker.”

  She bit back the curse that she wanted to let fly. “Where are they?”

  “An old grocery store turned sewer processing plant.” Hatcher shook off the questions that he knew were coming. “There’s no way to tell how many may be in there, but—”

  “Are you going after them?” She seemed almost excited as she spoke.

  Hatcher shrugged. “We want to. But only to get Simon.”

  Candy’s brows knit. “What?”

  “As Buck pointed out, if the cure works, there’s a bunch of innocent people in there and—”

  “INNOCENT?” She came to her feet so quickly that she overturned the folding chair she had been sitting in. Roger groaned in his sleep and she forced her voice lower. “How can you call them innocent? They attacked us. Killed eight of our people and almost killed Roger.” She shook her finger in his face. “Blood for blood, Hatcher.”

  Hatcher sighed heavily and gave her a sad stare. “Candy, if it weren’t for Simon, they probably wouldn’t have attacked.”

  “You can’t know that.” She planted her hands on her hips. “For all we know, Simon is just a drone.”

  “He was leading them down the street.” He raised a brow at her. “He taught them to use bows and arrows.”

  “Again, you can’t know that. They might have evolved on their own.”

  Hatcher nodded, holding a hand up to stop her. “He’s the only one that we KNOW was a criminal before he got infected. He’s the one we’re holding accountable.”

  “Let me see if I understand this. Just hours ago they were ALL trying to kill us. Tried to burn us to the ground. But you’re going to give them a pass on that because they’re infected?”

  Hatcher opened his mouth to reply when she continued. “But Simon, who may or may not have been ‘leading’ them, gets to pay for their crimes?”

  Hatcher waited a moment to make sure she was done. “Yes.”

  “That is absolute bullshit, Hatch, and you know it.”

  “Candy, we can’t know how many people are left in the world. If the cure works and we go after the Zulus for all of the shit they’ve done? We might as well just kill them all now and be done with it. None of them could have survived this long if they hadn’t done some pretty heinous shit.”

  She raised a brow at him. “And?”

  “And?” Hatcher stared at her with disbelief. “Seriously?” She continued to stare at him. “So, just fuck the human race so long as Candy gets her pound of flesh?”

  “Fuck you, Hatcher.”

  Vicky stepped into the recovery room and glared at them both. “That’s enough. From both of you.” She pointed to her brother. “You go do whatever it is you came back to do.” She pointed at Candy. “And you…if you intend to stay in here, you’ll need to keep it down. I’ve got a ton of people trying to recover, some from pretty major surgery, considering it was me carving on them. They need their rest.”

  Hatcher felt his cheeks reddening. “Sorry, sis.” He turned to leave then glanced back at Roger. “Tell him I was here, will ya?”

  “Tell him yourself when you’ve finished saving the world.”

  Vicky stepped closer. “I meant it, Candy.”

  Hatcher didn’t stay to watch how it played out. He turned and pushed his way out of the infirmary.

  Carol read the printout and shook her head. “No, this isn’t right.”

  “I really wish you could explain.” Kelly appeared worried as she watched the researcher. “In a really dumbed-down way, I mean.”

  Carol sat down hard, the paper still in her hand. “According to this…you don’t have our cure inside you.”

  “Wait. What?”

  Carol held the paper up. “You developed your own resistance to the virus.”

  “I did?” Kelly smiled to herself. “Yay. Go me.”

  “You don’t understand.” Carol stood and blew her breath out slowly, trying to gather her thoughts. “This wasn’t supposed to be possible. Or, at least, I didn’t think it was.” She looked back at the printout and rolled her eyes. “It took you this many months to develop a resistance…and it just happens to coincide with our…” She sat down suddenly, her eyes wide.

  “What? That look doesn’t look so good.”

  Carol stared at her, her mouth agape. “I just had a terrible thought.”

  “Don’t leave me hanging, doc.”

  Carol closed her eyes, her mind playing out the possibilities. “What if…”

  “Doc! Come on, you’re killing me here.”

  Carol held a finger up. “What if…it WAS our cure?”

  Kelly shook her head. “I’m not following you.”

  “A mutated form of our cure.”

  “Eew. That doesn’t sound so cool.”

  “It’s really not.” Carol sat back and rubbed at her temples. “I mean…it could be. Look at you.”

  Kelly blanched. “Yeah. Look at me.” She ran her fingers through the sparse hairs still covering her head. “I used to have my girl thin out my hair because it was so thick.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Carol leaned forward and picked up the printout again. “I mean, look at you. You’re coherent. You’re docile. You’re the old you again.” She glanced at Kelly. “Aren’t you?”

  Kelly shrugged. “I may not look it, but I’m feeling it. Slowly.”

  Carol sighed and flipped the printout onto the workbench. “I have no idea where to go next.”

  Kelly stood and cocked her head to the side. She strained to listen for a moment then slipped to the window. Pulling back the corner of the poster, she smiled to herself. “Maybe check on them.”

  Carol stood slowly and walked to the window. She looked down at the courtyard and saw two more infected rifling through the dumped garbage can. She glanced at Kelly and shrugged slowly. “Do you think it’s safe?”

  Kelly shrugged back. “How the hell would I know?” She glanced up at the afternoon sky. “But it is daylight, and they look hungry.”

  Carol swallowed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Will Stanton ripped the pages from his notebook and handed them to Hank. “Do the best you can. We need as much of this as you can get.”

  He glanced at the list and nodded. “There’s a couple of lumber yards close by that I can hit.”

  “Take as many men as you think you may need.” Stanton tapped the first page. “These things are mission critical.”

  “Gotcha.” Hank folded the paper and tucked it into his shirt pocket. He paused at the lobby and squatted next to Wally. He patted the big man’s arm and Wally’s eyes fluttered open. “I’m heading
out for a supply run. It doesn’t feel right not having you as my wingman, brother.”

  Wally chuckled and squeezed his eyes shut from the pain. “I feel about worthless now. Vic says it’s just a healthy concussion. Good thing my head is harder than that dashboard, huh?” He turned stiffly toward Hank and gave him a quick fist bump. “You got this.”

  “Get healed, man. We’re gonna need you to help rebuild.”

  “You know it.” Wally gave him a weak smile then leaned closer, his voice nearly a whisper. “If you happen by a pharmacy, see if you can get me some topiramate. My oldest boy played football and it helped with the headaches after his concussion. I asked Vic, but she didn’t have any.”

  Hank gave him a confused look. “How do you spell that?”

  “Beats me. Sound that shit out. Phonics is your friend.”

  Hank snorted as he stood. “Right.” He patted Wally’s shoulder. “I’ll see what I can find.” He watched Wally slowly close his eyes again, sitting back and allowing the sun to warm his skin while the residents rushed around making repairs.

  Hank waved at the men assigned to him and they headed out to the large trucks. “I have to make a quick stop before we hit the home stores.” He glanced back inside to where Wally sat. “I owe a guy.”

  6

  “We simply can’t spare the men.” Will held his ground as Hatcher tried to plead his case. “We lost good men in the attack and now we’re stretched too thin.”

  “But I have Simon cornered.” Hatcher shook his head. “And who put you in charge, anyway?”

  Will raised a brow at him. “You did. Before you left, remember?”

  “That was if I didn’t return.” He stood taller and looked over Will’s shoulder. “I’ll just grab those guys and—”

  “No, you won’t.” Will crossed his arms and continued to stare at him. “Those men have assigned duties.”