Red Eye | Season 2 | Episode 3 Read online

“Oh, yeah.” He stood up and walked to where his pack was. A moment later he’d pulled out another water bottle. He didn’t toss that; he walked over and handed it to me. “Still feeling okay?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “I’m just regular hungry.” As I lifted the bar to my mouth, I expected Barrett to go back and sit. I quirked an eyebrow when I realized he was staying to watch. I shrugged, sticking the corner of the compressed food into my mouth. It tasted…chalky in texture, dry. But once you got past that, it sort of reminded me of Frosted Flakes that weren’t sweet enough. “It’s not bad,” I mumbled around the ration. I hadn’t risked a bite yet. I shifted it to the corner of my mouth and tilted my head. I bit down hard and nothing happened. I ground my teeth back and forth, continuing to apply pressure. Finally, I managed to break off a piece.

  “Ready for a trip to the dentist?” Barrett’s voice held real humor, not the tone he used when he was teasing to be a jerk.

  “It’s still not bad,” I said, the words warped as I sucked on the hard, cornflake-like bar.

  “You missed your calling then. It’s the military life for you.”

  “Not in a million years.” I shifted the food in my mouth from one cheek to the other like a damn squirrel with a nut. It was hella awkward to eat. I felt like that fit the circumstances.

  Welcome to the end of the world—nothing’s fucking easy.

  ***

  “You got everything?” Barrett eyed me.

  “Everything like the backpack full or rations, the clothes on my back, and this?” I held up the gun Barrett had insisted I take. He was carrying more than one, ammo slung around his body like Stallone ready for first and last blood. “Guns and me don’t mix, Barrett. I grew up on…pretty things.”

  “Just don’t point it at me and you’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t be a dick and I won’t,” I countered, raising my eyebrows and giving him a you got that, buddy? face.

  We’d already moved most of the crates from in front of the door. He could carry them, his long arms and big hands making easy work of it. I couldn’t lift them on my own, despite wanting to just so I could be the strong-ass woman who “didn’t need no man” when shit got bad.

  I could tell Barrett wished we could carry more of the weapons. I think he’d have taken the entire stash with us if we could have carried it. He hadn’t said anything to that effect, but I could tell—it was the type of person he was: a drug-toting guy who believed in firepower over humanity.

  “It’s been quiet for a while. We go out, test the waters. If we can’t get far, we come back.”

  “We’ve gone over the plan ten times already, Barrett. I understand.” I gripped the automatic rifle with two hands, my arms straight down and the line of the stock and barrel pressing against my upper thighs.

  “Fine. Get ready.” He walked forward and moved the last of the crates.

  I hung back, breathing in and out slowly. We didn’t know exactly what to expect past those walls, but I did know one thing.

  There would be bodies.

  And the smell of blood and death that was becoming achingly familiar.

  “Here we go.” Barrett spoke quietly, not a trace of fear—whereas I was literally shaking… which wasn’t awesome when you were holding a gun. He pulled the door open, the damaged hinges protesting loudly. “That’s our signal. Time to move.”

  I walked forward quickly, trying to force my legs to stop feeling like jelly. I’d fought while escaping the airport. I’d been a graceful killing machine. I could be that again.

  At least that’s what I told myself as we stepped out into the light that was so bright I was momentarily blinded. I was glad for those few moments of sun searing my corneas. Grateful for that white harsh blast of beams.

  Because those moments were the quietude before the storm.

  When my eyes adjusted, I could see the carnage. As I’d expected, there were bodies everywhere. Blood splattered against each nearby surface that my eyes fell upon. And the stench was overpowering, wafting into my face. It was like walking by a butcher in full production mode—hundreds of pounds of cow flesh being flayed and prepped for sale.

  I moaned under my breath and let go of the gun with one hand to clamp fingers over my mouth and nose.

  “Keep it together,” Barrett mumbled as he closed the weapons cache door. He pulled several bodies in front of the entrance, piling them up like they were just empty shells, like they didn’t use to be freaking people.

  “What are you doing?” I stared at the building and his makeshift deterrent.

  “I’m hoping most everyone’s dead, and the walking ones will be too stupid to move bodies and enter the building.”

  “Why?” I asked again stupidly.

  Barrett looked at me. “It’s the fucking apocalypse and this is a goddamn motherlode of weapons. I’m not leaving it behind.”

  “We have enough guns, Barrett.” I balanced the weight of the gun I held atop my palm. It was heavy, yet not so consequential that it felt like something that could end a life. Just snuff it out of existence. That was exactly its purpose though. It existed to kill. It wasn’t a hunting gun, not meant for small-game prey and filling stomachs in crisis.

  “We’ll never have enough, not with the way shit is going. Don’t fucking argue with me on this one, Sam. This isn’t up for debate. Even if we don’t need them all to protect ourselves, they’re still something to trade. This right here”—Barrett slammed his palm into the door—“is currency.”

  “Coming back here, facing more danger, isn’t worth it.”

  “Do you know how naïve you sound? Twenty-four fucking seven, you’re like an overgrown goddamn child, Sam.” He moved away from me and walked over a body before turning around to wave me forward. “We stick together. Come on.”

  I hesitated. Barrett was…a war inside my brain. He made sense, on so many levels, but on other levels, I wondered if he had a heart. Or maybe the place where a heart should have been contained a satchel of drugs and an AR-15.

  Breathing deeply, I followed him. I stepped over the same bodies and I tried not to look. When I nearly tripped, my toe catching on a lifeless mound, I looked down and found a child’s form tucked under a woman’s.

  Were they the people who begged to be let into the weapons store? Did they die because we had refused them entry? I started crying, my emotions rising, and I tried to fight off the hunger. Guilt and the desire to zomm out collided in a contradictory mesh of feelings that made me ill.

  There was no movement around us, no immediate danger. I followed Barrett’s lead. I was completely turned around and had no sense of direction in reference to where our original tent had been. After a while, things started to look familiar. And if I focused on those—the things that nudged at a memory—then I could forget the present…the corpses already ripe and pungent, decay sped along by the heat.

  A shuffling sound stopped me in my tracks. I stopped covering my face and I held the gun properly, the way Barrett had shown me in our thirty-minute “sink or swim” lesson. “Barrett,” I whispered throatily. The shuffling came again, closer. “Barrett,” I repeated his name.

  He turned, pressing a finger to his lips. I shut up immediately, and listened.

  Barrett and I turned at the same time, facing the direction of the noise. Without my hand against my face, I couldn’t block out the odors around me. If I was going to fight, maybe that was good. I needed the bestial side, needed the darkness. I couldn’t afford to be a weak, whimpering mess any longer.

  So I let the death invade my senses. I let my eyes wander to the throbbing veins in Barrett’s neck. I needed more, to push me over the edge. My gaze went to the ground and a nearby body. His face was nearly ripped off, his eyes shrunken inward. The cavities in the skull haunted me with their near-emptiness. Not a zombie. A human that died and was, mercifully, spared becoming a monster.

  I moved to the inert form, slowly and carefully. I didn’t look at Barrett. I didn’t want to see his face before I di
d this.

  Kneeling down, I reached out a hand. Flexing my fingers, I hesitated.

  Taking a deep breath, I crooked my index finger into one of the eye sockets. Saliva filled my mouth. At first I thought I was going to vomit, but then I pulled my finger out of the eye fluids and it was clear and thick and all I could think about was stuffing it into my mouth.

  It wasn’t like fresh blood, coppery and metallic. It was almost sweet, like honeysuckle nectar. Should it be sweet? Human-corpse-flavored ice cream. I let the taste ride over me; it sent chills down my spine. I closed my eyes against the sensation.

  When I reopened them, all I saw was red.

  Chapter Four.

  The world was crimson.

  Not pink or pastel. Not a shade you’d paint your newborn daughter’s room, or the color of pointe shoes, but a vivid hue, like someone had poured fresh tomato soup over my eyes. Not the way my dad used to make it…with milk, so it was a creamy orange. Bright heirlooms straight from the vine, boiled and peeled and mashed.

  My mouth filled with saliva, hunger burning in my belly.

  I feared that color. It meant I was one of them. Or some strange amalgamation of human and creature that craved fresh brains and dead brains and…the hunger was pain.

  The rose glasses I wore were not optimism incarnate. They meant I had lost control and was ready to kill. Yet they also meant that I was strong and capable of handling myself. So I gave myself over to that strength, over to the rage that flowed through my body and helped me fight. There was power in this curse.

  The shuffling sound was so close. I bolted to a standing position. Colors flashed around me—pulsing blue veins, yellow heat signatures. A large shape moved to my right. It was familiar. I recognized it. I didn’t want to hurt it.

  Barrett, my brain filled in the blank. I don’t want to hurt him. He’s not the one I want.

  Another shape.

  This one…no pulsing blue veins, no thrush of life running through the body. Yet it was walking.

  Dead. My brain once again kicked in, pushing through the monster I was trying to control. No heartbeat. No blood rushing. That, I can hurt.

  “Sam, don’t.” Barrett tried to grab for me as I rushed forward, but I only had eyes for the zombie moving between two nearby tents.

  The right arm was dislocated, swishing uselessly at its side. It dragged its left leg, leading with its right. The lower half of the jaw swung loosely, revealing stained teeth and a tongue nearly bitten through. Its skin was red from wandering beneath the sun, peeling in places that had sustained far too much heat without protection. No SPF for the dead.

  I brought the gun up and I slammed the butt of it into the zombie’s head, much like Barrett had done to me earlier. It stumbled backwards, nearly falling. It tried to gnash its teeth together, but the busted jaw made that impossible. A zombie that couldn’t bite… I was putting it out of its misery. I lifted the gun again, repositioning, and I slammed it down once more. This time, I heard the satisfying crack of the skull fracturing. One more time. It’s not enough.

  For a third time, I jerked the rifle up and then rushed it downward again, into the same spot. Gray matter and opaque fluid mixed with blood escaped the wound, wetting the rifle stock and spurting out to decorate my face. I felt wetness on my mouth and I licked my lips hungrily.

  More. My brain was no longer the glimmer of logic reining in the monster. The zombie was on the ground now, its head caved in and the dirt soaking up precious fluids.

  I fell to my knees, gun discarded beside me, and I buried my face into the cavern I’d created. I could distinguish between the plasma and the pops of cells. It shouldn’t have been possible, but it was. It was Pop Rocks in my mouth, washed down with soda to make it tingle and fizzle on my tongue. I ate until my stomach hurt. Barrett didn’t stop me.

  Maybe he wanted to but was afraid. Though I doubted that.

  Or maybe he wanted to see what would happen—how far I would go.

  Either way, I was glad he let me be.

  I rocked back on my heels, ripped a piece of the zombie’s shirt, and swiped it across my mouth. Bits of brain flecked off my chin as I tried to clean. The euphoria of feasting was waning, the crimson in my vision dying away.

  And I suddenly felt sick.

  So very very sick.

  I crawled away from the body and held my stomach as I knelt on the ground. I was cramping worse than I had in my entire life. It didn’t make sense. I hadn’t gotten sick the first time I’d tasted zombie flesh. It had been fresher though…not quite so dead. I couldn’t keep it down.

  The contents of my stomach emptied in a stream of dark chunks. I heaved and moaned, my insides feeling like a meat grinder had hold of them. I groaned, rolling onto my side and clutching at my stomach. I didn’t even care that my hair was now inches away from a sloppy mess of barely digested zombie goo. “Fuck, that hurt.”

  “Time to go.” Barrett’s voice was gruff and matter-of-fact and I felt hands pulling me down to lie on my back. “Shit,” he breathed out, obviously seeing the state of me. He picked me up, carrying me so that the backpack of rations hung down between his arms. “More are coming. It’d be easier if you could walk.”

  I could only groan again and clasp my abdomen in agony.

  “You’re not making this easy, Sam.” He walked fast, me jostling against his body. “Shit,” I heard him say as I tried to breathe through the pain still shooting through me. It was food poisoning, that was exactly what it felt like. Summer break in Florida and a bad batch of oysters. Eggs gone bad. Uncooked chicken. Unwashed salad. A thousand foods slipped through my mind, making it all worse.

  “Ohhhh, god. I’m going to be sick again.” The words spilled from me weakly.

  “Don’t throw up on me,” Barrett grunted angrily. “I might change my mind about keeping your ass alive.”

  Somehow, he knew just what to say to make me laugh faintly, a little humor in the middle of the darkness. When I glanced up at his face though, seeing him through slits because I didn’t want to open my eyes all the way against the hurt, I wondered if maybe he wasn’t joking.

  The path seemed clear. We were going to get to a vehicle and everything would be fine. I could sit in the seat and try to recover. Being jostled around definitely wasn’t helping.

  Thinking you’re safe is like a damn invitation for bad shit to come along.

  “I’ve got to put you down.” He rushed out the words and dropped me to the ground. I watched in a haze of agony as he lifted his weapon and fired into the space between a truck and car.

  We were near the parking area. I was still a complete geographic mess. Up was down. Right was left. Sideways…everything was fucking sideways.

  Barrett fired again and I heard and felt soft impacts vibrate through the ground to where I was sitting. I stood up fast, too fast, blood rushing to my head and the pain in my stomach shooting like lightning bolts. Blood was spilling nearby and I could smell every drop; it wasn’t fresh and new, but days-dead and devolving by the moment. The same as the one before. This time it didn’t make me hungry, and the nausea from my earlier…feed still lingered at the back of my throat. Maybe if the body was fresher. I shook my head hard, trying to dislodge the thought.

  But it lingered, egging me on. If the body were fresher, so too would the blood be, so too would the flesh be. It would taste more alive, closer to the thing I really craved. Brains that still tasted like active thinking and firing synapses. I wanted the fresh, crisp, snap crackle and pop of blood that still carried oxygen, because the body still breathed. The slightest tinge of crimson crept into the edges of my sight. I was thinking about the taste of the blood of the too-old dead; even that aged blood popped deliciously in my mouth.

  The throwing-it-all-up part after was less appealing.

  Barrett was shooting again. Had he ever stopped?

  I turned in a circle, feeling more light vibrations course through the earth beneath me.

  “Come on,” Barrett’s
deep voice came brusquely as his hand gripped my wrist.

  I stumbled, letting him pull me along toward a huge taupe truck. I made the mistake of looking behind us.

  There were ten of them.

  Twelve.

  Sixteen at least.

  Barrett yanked open the driver’s side door of the big military vehicle and pushed me toward the opening. I scrambled up into the truck, my leg catching under the oversized steering wheel. Barrett climbed in, not waiting for me to be completely out of the way. He shoved me to the side, making me grunt but also knocking my stuck leg loose. He slammed the door closed and pulled his arms quickly out from his backpack straps, dropping the bag to rest on the floorboards between our legs with a heavy clunk. He leaned back and shoved his hands into his front pocket, pulling out a large truck key.

  “Where the hell did you get that?” I asked in surprise, my eyes flicking from his face out toward the monsters closing in.

  “Lifted them a while ago, thought they might come in handy. And I was right.” He shoved the key into the ignition and started the engine.

  “When you disappeared before?”

  He nodded as the truck launched forward, slamming into four of the zombies who fell backwards and rolled under the truck, which bounced upward as the wheels encountered the fresh obstacles.

  Barrett didn’t discriminate as he drove like a bat out of hell through the camp; he knocked down the dead and smashed lifeless bodies into so much pulp and knocked down several tents in his pursuit of where we’d once been—the weapons store.

  I could see it in the near distance after only a few minutes of driving. Barrett turned a corner and then forced the gears into reverse. He turned his body, hand holding onto the back of the bench seat as he stared behind us to back toward the metal building. He stopped only a few feet short of the pile of bodies he’d left against the door. “Get out and help,” he barked, leaving the engine running.

  The pain was dulled enough to operate. I mimicked his movements—opening my door, sliding off the seat, racing toward the back of the truck. He opened the back hatch, revealing a nearly empty rear cargo hold, light held back by thick canvas material over the top of the curved support bars. I stood stupidly as he shifted the bodies, not wanting to touch more of the dead in case my sickening appetite returned. Hunger was teasing once more, a feather tickling my senses.