Pierce was starting to learn that he would not be escaping that place, whatever it was. He found himself hoping for the parasite to take him over so that it would all be over.

  He wondered what it would feel like to go crazy like the infected in Witherton. Whether he’d be aware of everything as the urge to rip the uninfected to shreds took full control of his actions. Whether he’d become just a consciousness trapped inside a body that no longer obeyed his commands, silently screaming for it all to stop.

  Or maybe it would be one of those things that happened so gradually he wouldn’t even realize he’d lost his mind. He might wake up someday with a hint of anger toward the doctor drawing his blood. The following day, he might be irritable. That annoyance would grow into bottled-up anger until one day he snapped at the smallest thing—like the pinprick of the needle on his arm.

  By then, he’d kill the doctor with his bare hands in a fit of rage—and he’d see nothing wrong with it. Even when the soldiers pointed guns at him, he’d feel no fear, only anger. He’d run at them because he’d want to rip their heads off so badly, but before he could do that, he’d be shot dead.

  Pierce hoped that by then he’d be long gone, killed off by the parasite and controlled like a corpse puppet.

  Pierce was already losing his mind. With nothing but his thoughts to occupy him in the cell, he felt like he was driving himself crazy with overthinking. Pierce wasn’t even an overthinker, but somehow, he’d developed that habit since becoming a prisoner.

  Maybe it was his mind’s way of trying to occupy him so he wouldn’t go crazy. It was a shame it seemed to have the opposite effect. If he stayed in the cell much longer, he’d become indifferent about it. That was what terrified him the most—waking up one day and realizing he’d accepted this life as the new normal.

  With so much pent-up panic, he decided to attempt a desperate escape. The next time he was visited by the soldiers and the doctor, he pretended to feel woozy and reached for the soldier’s sidearm.

  He overestimated his own capabilities because he was knocked to the ground before he got anywhere close to the gun. He was then beaten to within an inch of losing consciousness. He needed ten stitches, and he was warned it would be worse the next time he tried that.

  Pierce gave up after that. The only thing that crossed his mind was a possible suicide. It was only a distant thought, something he would save for when he really couldn’t take it anymore.

  But it wouldn’t be conventional suicide, no. He’d grab the needle and jab it into the doctor’s eye, and after doing that, he’d pull the needle out and stab him again and again until the soldiers finally killed him. Pierce wouldn’t even care if the doctor had a family or anything like that. He knew exactly what he was doing, which made him a bad person.

  Then, one day that felt like years since first being captured, something did change, and an opportunity finally presented itself to him.

  Pierce was woken up to pain in his belly. He’d had those in the past few weeks. Sometimes, they’d be twinges. Other times, they’d hurt enough to force him to assume a fetal position to make the pain go away.

  An unfamiliar sound that he immediately recognized as an alarm beeped somewhere in the distance. He opened his eyes and was immediately surprised to see the room engulfed in darkness. That never happened. The lights always stayed on, so Pierce knew right away that something was up.

  He hopped to his feet and looked toward the hallway, which was bathed in a crimson color.

  Blood, Pierce thought but then realized it was just the emergency power light.

  He noticed that the crack of the door entry was wider. It was slightly open. Pierce didn’t care what was going on. He just knew he had to use this opportunity to try to get out even if it resulted in him getting beaten again.

  He walked across the room and wedged his fingers between the door and the glass. He pulled, and it opened with surprising ease. His heart raced as he stared at the open exit in front of him, no guards in sight. That probably meant something more important had the guards’ attention.

  It also meant there wasn’t a lot of time left.

  Pierce peeked down the hallway. When he was sure the coast was clear, he stepped out and made his way to the exit. He thought about looking for Shepherd, but the two of them being together would make no difference. Pierce’s priority was finding a gun.

  His soldier’s instincts were coming back. He almost laughed at how quickly those things happened. Muscle memory was one hell of a thing.

  He pushed open the door that led out of the cellblock. The corridors that stretched in front of him were illuminated by the red emergency light, too. The distant beeping was a lot louder here.

  Pierce noticed something crumpled lying on the floor ahead of him. He squinted but couldn’t make out what it was. He tip-toed toward it, constantly looking over his shoulder. He stopped when he felt his foot touch something wet on the ground.

  He looked down and only then noticed the trail of dark red leading up to the pile on the ground. The emergency power light had camouflaged the liquid.

  Blood.

  And the crumpled thing on the ground wasn’t a thing at all. It was a soldier’s dead body. As if waiting for him to make that discovery, gunshots echoed in the distance, followed by a blood-curdling scream.

  It was happening again.

  Gun. The soldier must have a gun.

  Pierce approached the dead body and grabbed it by the shoulder. But before he could turn it over, a bright, pale light contrasting the red one in the hallway blinded Pierce.

  “Freeze!” someone shouted.

  Fuck!

  Pierce stood, shielding his eyes from the flashlight, the brightness hiding the person behind it. “Don’t shoot. I’m not one of them.”

  But would the soldier even care? They probably couldn’t waste time escorting Pierce back to his cell, so they might end up shooting him instead so they could focus on the emergency at hand.

  Pierce thought about trying to reach for the dead soldier’s sidearm even if it meant getting shot.

  The flashlight swiveled down, which was a good sign. Pierce was finally able to take a look at the person in front of him. He gasped in relief and surprise.

  “We’re getting the fuck out of here, Pierce,” Shepherd said.

  Krista

  This is insane. This can’t be happening.

  Those were the thoughts that ran through Krista’s head as she dragged James by the feet across the floor. She had already tied Angela up to the exposed pipes in the guest room. Krista always hated seeing those pipes and complained to Eric about them with every chance she got, so it was ironic that they finally served a purpose.

  James was much heavier than Angela, and that was why Krista first took care of the woman—and because she deemed her a bigger threat than James. She’d found a stack of ropes neatly folded under the workbench. She was overcome by gratefulness for her husband having been so tidy.

  She sliced off pieces of the rope to bind Angela and James’s hands behind their backs. She found no need to bind their feet. She moved all the furniture out of the way up to the walls. She needed to give Nelson the space he needed to take his victims down.

  Once everything was ready, she placed the knife and the rest of the unused rope on the table. She could sense Nelson becoming restless in the closet. His breathing had become louder and more ragged as if he sensed what was coming.

  Be patient, baby. Just a little longer.

  Krista couldn’t unleash her son on James and Angela just yet. She needed to explain to them that this was all for a purpose. She didn’t have enough time to do so during dinner, so she had to try again once they woke up.

  Surely they’d understand. They’d know that she had to do it for her child. Maybe James and Angela didn’t have children of their own, but Krista would do her best to convince them that they were helping her son become better. Everyone wanted to help a sick child, right?

  It felt like hours that she stood there, watching them, waiting for them to wake up. She grew impatient and then remembered that they would probably be out cold for a long time because of the number of pills she ground in their pasta. They didn’t eat more than half of it, but it was still enough to incapacitate them for a long time.

  Krista strode into the kitchen, filled two glasses with cold water, and returned to the guest room. She splashed the water over her captives’ faces. It didn’t have the electrifying effect of the two of them gasping for air as she’d seen in movies.

  Their eyes slowly blinked open. James let out a moan and looked around the room. He didn’t notice Krista standing in front of him. While waiting for them to sober up, she returned to the kitchen to leave the glasses in the sink.

  By the time she went back to the living room, she could hear James and Angela speaking in slurred voices. Questions like what, where, and why came from their lips.

  “I’m sorry,” Krista said. “I really am. You have to believe me.”

  “Why are you doing this to us?” Angela asked.

  “I’m not evil. I swear. I’m not going to hurt you.” Krista realized that was a lie, but the words had already left her mouth. What she meant to say was I don’t want to hurt you.

  “What do you want from us?” James asked.

  Krista crossed her arms, her eyes flitting to the closet door. Angela noticed where Krista’s eyes drifted, so she looked there and back at Krista. “Your son is in there, isn’t he?”

  James jerked his head toward the closet and then at Angela, confused. “Her son?”

  As if in response, Nelson growled and banged on the closet door, rattling it. How he still had such strength was beyond Krista.

  Just a little longer, baby.

  “Nelson is very sick. He refuses to eat. He hasn’t eaten in days. He’s going…” Something in her throat stopped her for a moment. “He’s going to die.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Angela said.

  “No, I do. I’m sorry, but I do.” Krista was crying, “I have tried everything. He refuses to eat.”

  “So you think he’ll eat us?” James asked.

  “I know he will. He has to. I’ve seen how those sick people feed. They need live meat. I’ve seen it. I’m not crazy. This is going to work.”

  “You’re crazy,” James said.

  Snap, snap, snap, the remaining threads in Krista’s head went. She didn’t care anymore. No need to worry about flimsy binds anymore.

  Only one thing mattered. Only one. Keeping her son safe.

  “The infected don’t eat their prey. They only kill them,” Angela said.

  She was fully awake, and her voice calm. Krista wanted to thank her for it. Begging to be let go and crying would make Krista sob even harder. This was good.

  “You’re wrong. I’ve seen it,” she said then raised her hands in an attempt to stub the argument. That wasn’t what this was all about. “Look, it doesn’t matter what you think. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry and that I’m doing this to protect my son. I hope you can understand.”

  She strode over to the closet and gently placed a palm on the rattling door. Nelson’s stench wafted from between the blinds. As soon as he ate and was better, Krista would give him a proper bath. Then she would read him a bedtime story and tuck him into bed.

  Things would be back to the way they were before. Krista suppressed a happy chortle that inflated her chest. She reached for the lock and—

  “I have a daughter.” Angela’s voice froze Krista’s hand on the lock.

  Krista turned her head toward Angela and searched her face for any lies

  “Her name is Riley, and she is eight years old,” Angela said.

  “Where is she?” Krista asked.

  She was no longer looking at Angela as a catalyst to make her son better. It was a look from one parent to another.

  “She lives in Salem. I haven’t seen her in two weeks,” Angela said.

  Krista found that so sad. She couldn’t imagine going without seeing Nelson for more than two days, let alone two whole weeks.

  “You want to make your child better. I just want to see mine one more time. Please, let us go. Let me see Riley,” Angela said.

  Krista’s hand faltered on the lock. Her lips trembled.

  What was she doing? She couldn’t sacrifice an innocent life to save her child. She couldn’t be so selfish. She had to let James and Angela go.

  But before that decision could fully manifest, Nelson spoke.

  “Toy,” he said in that familiar, child-like voice, and it was then that Krista knew she would do anything for him.

  Anything.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Angela’s mouth dropped in shock. Krista reached for the lock when the doorbell suddenly rang.

  The room froze.

  Who could that possibly be?

  James and Angela glanced toward the door then back at Krista, their gazes silently asking her if she was going to get that. Krista couldn’t budge. Her feet were stuck in imaginary muck. The doorbell rang again. That seemed to unshackle her.

  Without a word, Krista plodded out of the room and into the foyer. She looked through the peephole, but she couldn’t see anyone. Whoever it was must have left before she could reach the door.

  The banging that sounded like it was right in her face made her jump back.

  “Open up. I know you’re inside. I saw you in the window,” a deep voice on the other side said.

  “Who-who are you?” Krista asked.

  The voice came a moment later. “Ma’am? I’m with the police. Everything is all right. I need you to open this door.”

  The police?

  “Yes, the police,” the man said.

  Krista had thought she’d asked the question in her head, but it looked like that wasn’t the case.

  “The situation is being resolved as we speak. We’re escorting civilians to safety,” he said. “Open the door and come with me, ma’am.”

  A smile crept up Krista’s lips. The police were here. She was saved. Nelson was saved. Nobody needed to die. The police were going to help them.

  Krista couldn’t unlock the door fast enough. Even though something inside her—the part that was still sane—screamed at her not to touch that damn lock, Krista ignored it because it was too good, too beautiful to pass up. Still, the voice in her head continued screaming at her, but it was like watching the TV with the volume almost all the way down.

  “Thank the heavens!” she shouted as she swung the door open. “I thought my son was going to die! I—”

  But the words died on her lips when she saw the man covered in blood and dirt from head to toe. He was slouching, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

  When his eyes locked with Krista’s, the corner of his lip curved into a lopsided grin. By the time Krista got the idea to close the door, it was too late.

  The man’s hand flew toward her face.

  The smash that connected with her temple made the world go dark.

  James/???

  He was still alive. Against all odds, he was standing and breathing. The sheer drive for vengeance was enough to keep him going. It fueled him beyond his body’s regular capacity.

  Father Matthew had thought Ben was dead. He himself thought that, too. He lost consciousness and drifted through an unknown place. Hate and anger flowed through him, electrifying him. Even in his dying state, all that occupied his mind were all the people who had wronged him.

  When he opened his eyes and found himself in the same spot, covered in blood, he knew it was not his time to leave. He was given another chance to go back for revenge. It might have been a deal with God or, more likely, the devil, and he didn’t care if he had to sell his soul for it.

  All he cared about was making his attackers suffer.

  He heard screams inside the town hall, and he knew the place had been breached. He somehow managed to get up through the pain and shambled down to the entrance to the underground tunnels.

  As he descended the ladder, he slipped off one of the rungs close to the ground and fell. He spent the next five minutes moaning and thinking of nothing but his pain, listening to the stampede and the screaming of the loonies above ground.

  Then, when the sharp stinging in his body turned into dull throbbing, his enemies entered his mind. Father Matthew was dead; he knew that much because he’d heard a distinct scream that differed from the others in the town hall.

  That still left Angela, James, and Ricky. Angela was his priority, but he was going to kill the other two as well.

  And Heather? She was unimportant, a tiny dot compared to the others, who were star-sized. Besides, she was probably dead anyway.

  As for Angela… Ben hoped she wouldn’t die because he wanted to be the one to kill her.

  He knew they would go for the checkpoint, so he followed their trail tirelessly. He arrived just in time to hear gunshots fired from the wall, and that was where he lost their trail.

  He tried to put himself in Angela’s shoes and wondered where she would go next. He first considered another closer checkpoint, but Angela was smarter than that. He then remembered that she mentioned working at Welco Labs, so he headed in that direction.

  As the days passed, he saw no traces of her and was beginning to lose hope. He even thought about turning back to retrace his steps. They couldn’t have gotten far, and most of Witherton’s streets were blocked, either by crashed vehicles or loonies, which effectively would have forced any survivors in one general direction.

  Ben stared down at the woman at his feet. She lay motionless on the ground in front of him, blood crusting in her hair where he’d struck her with a brick. It broke in half upon impact; that was how hard he’d hit her. She didn’t even have time to yell out in pain.

  His initial plan had been to kill her and loot the place, maybe take a day to recuperate. He’d seen the lights in the house on and saw movement passing in the window, and he knew he’d find something good in there.

 

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