The Dead Saga (Book 3): Odium III Page 10

  As we trundled back down the muddied path, I watched the house fade away in the distance and I wondered if we should have also burnt it down. It was a house of horrors now, filled to the brim with only nightmares. Its walls were crawling with revulsions and pain. Deacon stared out the window silently, his arms still wrapped tightly around the moving baby as if he were protecting any normal newborn. The thought made me feel sick. Nova drove, her window open and a cigarette hanging from her lips, her face pale and deathly.

  This was the most horrifying day I had ever experienced—possibly worse than when the outbreak had first begun, when I had no idea what was happening and it had seemed as if every nightmare was becoming a reality.

  This day was worse than that. This had to be the lowest point, because I couldn’t imagine anything worse than this, than what Deacon was going through at the moment, than what he carried in his arms. I promised myself silently that I would try and bring him some kind of peace.

  He had killed so many people, and for that he would have to pay, because I finally agreed with Nova that he had to die. It was seeing his family, torn up and bloody, and knowing that he had truly lost it—that there was no coming back from this for him—that had convinced me. But first he deserved some sort of retribution for his own pain, and I would help him get that.

  FOURTEEN.

  We piled our truck up with as much as it could possibly hold—clothes and blankets, food and medicine. It still seemed like such a damn shame and a waste to destroy everything, but I couldn’t imagine letting this place stay in one piece, and there wasn’t enough time to get back to base and get more trucks and get back here. It would take weeks to accomplish a full clear-out, and the longer it stood, the more my gut churned to destroy it. Because it couldn’t be left standing. Not after everything that had occurred here. The scientists here, Rachael included, had supposedly been working on finding a cure, but as we went through the tents it seemed less and less likely that this had actually been the final outcome they’d had in mind.

  Bodies had been experimented on, samples of blood and saliva taken and fed to non-infected humans. Through the brief notes that I forced myself to read, it became more and more apparent that the outcome had been to learn to control this disease for some reason. It was absurd and barbaric, and as I lit one of the tents on fire—one that contained dismembered bodies and brains in jars—and stepped away from the flames that licked up the side of it, I couldn’t help but think that this was the very best outcome for the world. That by destroying this place we were actually helping to save mankind—because if anyone had gotten hold of those notes, we could all end up more doomed than we were already.

  I chewed the inside of my cheeks in an attempt to stifle the scream that wanted to erupt from me. I tasted the metallic tang of my blood filling my mouth as I bit down harder. Thick smoke danced around the tent, and I stepped back away from it, not wanting to breathe in the toxicity of the fumes. I continued to frown and bite at my cheek, anger and sadness engulfing my heart and making me want to run and run and never look back.

  What was wrong with people? Had we learned nothing in the years since the outbreak? Angry tears built in my eyes until the fiery tent was a blur, and I swallowed down the thick lump of hatred in my throat. A little piece of me had died and I knew it wouldn’t come back. I felt like I was a continuously revolving door, a new emotion at each new turn.

  Anger. Sadness. Hatred. Anger. Sadness. Hatred.

  It wouldn’t stop, and neither would mankind. We would always be trying to control others. Always trying to own and take what wasn’t ours. What was the point in living if we were always trying to kill one another?

  “Are you okay?” Nova spoke next to me, but I couldn’t look away from the flames to acknowledge her. “This is all so much more fucked up than I thought possible,” she mumbled.

  I nodded in agreement, because she was right and I wanted—no, I needed her to know that she was right. That this was everything I hated about people, about life. The unfairness and cruelness of everything. This was everything I hated about the walled cities and the Forgotten and all their craziness. Because I got it, okay? I fucking got it: The deaders weren’t the disease. We were.

  “You know he has to die, right?” Nova waited for my response, and when there wasn’t one, she continued. “And that…thing, that has to die too. I’ll make it quick for both of them.”

  I blinked, the tears falling from my eyes, and I nodded. Because this, too, was true. He had to pay for what he had done, he had to be made accountable for the blood on his hands, just like the Forgotten had to, but it would also kill me to do it. This man had already suffered so much and now he was going to die because of it. It all seemed so unfair and unjust, and I wondered if we were as bad as the scientists in this cheap laboratory, deciding who lived and who died.

  “He’s a sicko. How could he let them live like that? Ughhh, they weren’t even alive, they were dead, and he could have ended that torment. But he didn’t.” Her words were a blur of rushed air, flowing into one another as she spoke.

  I felt numb to it all. To him, her. To her hatred and the whole crazy, vile situation. I shook my head, barely registering what she was saying anymore. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be the god who decided who lived and who died. There was too much of that now. I opened my mouth to speak, my tongue feeling heavy in my mouth.

  “I think we should let James and Zee decide that,” I said through a throat thick with emotion.

  “What? No! He has to die, now! And they won’t let that thing anywhere near the base.” Nova’s hand gripped my shoulder and she spun me to face her.

  I barely recognized the person that stood before me. Gone was the happy carefree woman that loved to dance in the rain, and standing before me was a broken, distraught woman full of anger and bitterness. She had lost so much, and I hadn’t realized how much she had been hoping that this trip would make things right—that the damage her sister had caused would somehow be justified if everyone had been okay. In her eyes I now saw how her hope had been to go home with a healthy woman, man, and a baby, and the very real possibility of a cure.

  Instead we were returning with nightmares.

  “It’s not down to us to decide this—to decide his fate—and honestly, I don’t want it to be.” I wanted to be able to take this burden away from her—to kill this man and put her, and him, out of their misery, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough. Or maybe I was strong enough. Perhaps that was the problem. I wasn’t just a hate-filled woman anymore. I was finally opening myself up and allowing other emotions to embrace my soul, and surely that was a good thing. Right? But if so, why did it feel so wrong?

  Nova snarled angrily at me. “You’re turning fuckin’ weak, Nina.”

  “And you’re turning cruel!” I retorted with an angry sob.

  “I learned from the best.” Nova glared at me.

  “I won’t let you do this.”

  “You can’t stop me.”

  I closed my eyes, feeling the heavy thud of my headache behind my eyes. She was right: I couldn’t stop her. There was nothing I could do. Because if it came down to this man or me, it would be me. I waited in silence, gathering my thoughts, deciding on my next move—my next plea.

  “Please, Nova.” I resorted to begging, because I couldn’t win an argument against her. “Let’s not do this. Let someone else decide. I don’t think I could live with it.”

  For several moments she didn’t say anything, and then she grunted out something indecipherable before turning and stomping away.

  I sighed, my heart feeling too heavy and full, almost as if it couldn’t possibly hold any more heartache. Nova was right: I was turning weak, and this weakness could get me killed, but it felt so hard right then to continue being strong. My walls had been breached and I was struggling with getting them back up. Between Emily and Mikey I was turning into a fluffy kitty-cat instead of the fierce lioness I used to be. Yet I couldn’t ever regret letting the
se people into my life and my heart. Even if it did get me killed.

  I watched the tent burning until the smoke began to sting my eyes and then I turned away from it and carried on the arduous task of setting everything else on fire also. Nova and Deacon had been busy while I had been standing watching that one tent burn. Most of the compound was on fire now, flames licking high into the sky.

  Yesterday we had followed the smoke signals and arrived at this compound not knowing what we would be walking into. What we found was that everyone was dead and the bodies were burning to dust. Today we would leave this place and head back home, leaving behind yet more smoke in our wake, as this place burned to ashes. It felt almost poetic, and also like good karma in some way, to destroy what was once the destroyer.

  The place was burning well, and thankfully the rain had stayed away. In one of the storage rooms we had found some gasoline, and we used some of it sparingly to help ignite the compound. Another wasteful act, but necessary if we wanted to ensure the full destruction of the place.

  I headed back to the truck, stomping through the muddy earth and avoiding the decaying bodies that still littered the ground. I moved around a group of charred bodies, wincing as I saw that one of them was still moving—only fractionally, and not really enough to do any harm to someone unless they fell directly on top of it. Plus, this place would be gone in a few short hours—yet it seemed unjust to leave it like that, burnt to a crisp and almost mummified, buried under a pile of bodies. I drew my katana out and took another steadying breath before driving it through the deader’s skull. There was almost no resistance from the weakened skull, and only a tiny crunch and pop as the blade met its mark and pierced the brain. Still, it made me feel sick to my stomach.

  “Another one bites the dust,” I muttered, pulling my katana back out.

  I frowned down at the blade, noticing that the gunk on the end was tinged green instead of just the normal black gloop that was inside deaders’ skulls. I lifted the blade to my nose and sniffed, feeling freaked out that it didn’t smell of rot and decay. In fact, it didn’t smell of anything at all.

  I looked around me, feeling paranoid and worried. Had we just destroyed the cure? Or had we in fact eliminated a new type of deader? The heat was rising from the fires as they steadily grew and joined each of the smaller fires, so I hurried to the truck by the main entrance.

  “Nova?” I yelled as I drew close.

  She was standing beside the truck, smoking as usual, and looking wretched. Anger and sadness engulfed her. I could see it in her eyes, her stance—hell, I could almost see it emanating from her in waves of disgust. Deacon was sitting inside the truck, the bundle in his arms, his eyes flitting to Nova every once in a while.

  “What?” she barked out as I got closer.

  I scowled at her, wanting to rip into her with a nasty comment, but we were too alike. It wouldn’t get us anywhere but into another argument.

  “Look at this.” I raised my katana to show her the deep green blood.

  “What is that?” She frowned.

  “Sniff it,” I said, raising the blood up to face height.

  “Fuck no! What is it? Is it shit? My shit goes a weird color if I eat too many beans. I’m not sniffing your shit, Nina.”

  I stared at her, dumbfounded, and then despite the panic and worry, despite the anger I felt for this situation and for her callousness toward Deacon, I laughed. And once I started, I couldn’t stop. Nova glared at me, unimpressed.

  “It’s not funny, Nina. That’s sick. There’s something seriously fuckin’ wrong with you.”

  I noticed the corner of her mouth quirk a fraction, and though she was pissed off and hurting, I knew that she thought it was funny. That I would actually make her sniff my crap.

  I shook my head, still laughing, even though what I was about to say to her wasn’t in the least bit funny.

  “It’s not my shit, asshole. I just killed a deader, and this was the stuff inside its head.” I had stopped laughing but I still held a small smile at the idea. “And it doesn’t smell. At all.”

  “What? Let me look at that.”

  I raised the katana up to her nose and she took a deep lungful of it.

  “It doesn’t smell,” she mumbled.

  “No. What does this mean, Nova?” I asked seriously.

  She shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. They either found a cure, or were getting close, or they created something much worse.”

  I could almost feel her burden grow heavier as she spoke.

  “But there’s nothing we can do now, we need to get out of here.”

  I nodded in agreement. The heat from the fire was growing steadily and the smoke was getting closer. I started to go around to my side of the truck, since Nova was driving.

  “Nina.”

  I turned to look back at her quizzically. She held my gaze for several seconds, as if trying to order her words in her head and then she looked away.

  “I can’t sit next to that thing,” she mumbled without looking at me.

  I glanced over at Deacon. I didn’t think he had heard her—not that it would have mattered if he had, but I was glad he hadn’t all the same. Neither of us wanted to sit next to that baby. It was going to be a long trip back to base and I wasn’t sure that James and Zee wouldn’t just execute Deacon and his child on sight, making this whole situation pointless. But either way I couldn’t be the one to kill him, or it, and I really didn’t want to be around when it happened.

  “I’ll sit next to you,” I said, not wanting to be stuck in the middle of Nova and Deacon but not wanting her to freak out at having to sit next to him either.

  Plus, it was the least I could do since she had agreed not to kill him. Actually, she hadn’t agreed, but he wasn’t dead yet so I took it as an agreement, anyway. Joan had said she would go in the back of the truck with all the gear, though I wondered if she would be comfortable with so much back there. But as long as the temperature didn’t drop too much, that would suit her and us just fine, since she smelled so bad and we really didn’t have any other option. I found her splashing in a muddy puddle and gave her the heads-up on the plan, and thankfully she didn’t seem to give a shit about where she sat and happily climbed into the back of the truck.

  I moved past Nova and climbed into the truck through her door, squeezing myself into the middle seat. Deacon looked across at me sorrowfully, his eyes dark pits of despair. The sound of his dead child making all sorts of weird, creepy noises in his arms sent a shudder down my spine. I knew then that this would probably be one of the hardest journeys I would ever make. I looked away and tried not to listen to the noises, to not smell the foul stench that emanated from his arms, but it was almost impossible.

  Nova climbed in next to me, glancing at me once with a look of appreciation before starting the truck. We pulled out of the compound and headed home, four people and one dead zombie baby, and a truckload of gear heavier. Yet the greatest weight would always be inside us.

  FIFTEEN.

  “Ninety-six bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-six bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around, ninety-five bottles of beer on the wall! Ninety-five bottles of beer on the wall,” Joan hollered loudly in the back of the truck, singing at the top of her voice.

  If you could call it singing. It was more a deep, throaty screech that set my teeth on edge and made my stomach clench with the very urgent need to yell and scream at her to stop. She had been doing this off and on for the past couple of hours, and not for the first time that day, I was hugely grateful that she was in the back and not sitting next to me, where she would have been close enough to strangle. I didn’t want her death on my conscience—not along with everything else. Yet as she reached ninety-three bottles of beer, I wondered if my conscience would be okay with her death. Because I was getting seriously close to losing it.

  We had hoped that she would get bored and fall asleep, or at least run out of beer bottles, but when she had reached zero bottles and we had
breathed a deep sigh of relief—even Deacon looked grateful—she had started from the top again. This was her fifth go-round, and I was feeling fidgety with the need to yell, or stab something. Or yell and stab something. Hell, I wanted to yell and stab and maim something, I was feeling so irritated with her out-of-tune singing.

  “I’m going to stop the truck and kill her,” Nova bit out, her nostrils flaring angrily. “I’m serious, Nina. I’m going to slit that wrinkly old throat of hers if she doesn’t stop in a minute.”

  “You joined in before. She got to three bottles and you joined in! This time around is your damn fault!” I snapped back angrily.

  “I thought it would help her shut the hell up if she realized that it was truly the end of the song,” she grumbled back. “I even yelled the fuckin’ end at the fuckin’ end!”

  “You encouraged her. She thought we were all having fun, asshole!”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “Yes you did. You sang with her. Now she knows we can hear her and is doing it all the more. She thinks she’s entertaining us when really she’s signing her own death warrant!” My voice raised into an angry yell and I felt Deacon flinch next to me.

  I ignored him, knowing that if I said anything at all to him about that it would be along the lines of something horrible. Between Joan’s God-awful screeching and his zombie baby’s stench and weird noises, I was officially finished with this trip. I wanted out. I needed a new truck. In fact, I was ready to line up Deacon, the zombie baby, and crazy Joan and execute every last one of them. Nice Nina had officially vanished, at least for the day.