“My name is Gary Hostel. The mutation gave me enhanced speed,
strength, hearing, and healing. I cannot die.”
"I was working on a sort of
formula…A cure, hopefully."
He saw a muzzle flash, way up the
mountainside. He did not know how it was possible, but his vision seemed to
zoom in at the pinprick of light. There was a sniper, still a tiny figure at
such a distance. Before thinking further he yelled “Duck!” and saw the bullet,
saw it coming through the air towards him. He saw the surprise on Gary’s face
which became a blur as he jumped into the path of the projectile. It came out
the back of his rib cage, slower now but still deadly, until Roger caught it.
Right between his fingers he held the piping hot .308 caliber round. The force
of catching it and not letting go nearly knocked him off his feet.
Gary, already healed, stared at
him in awe. He came close and whispered; “He changed you too, didn’t he?”
=====
He focused on his target. He had
one goal; one objective: to kill Roger Torrens. His master had decided that
subject five was not a valuable asset. He was an unnecessary host. He had
little control of his own actions, or thoughts. For the slightest moment he
felt a flicker of regret: why was he killing this person, simply because the
guy hadn't bonded with the virus like the Controller had expected? The moment
of emotion suddenly ended with a painful shock from the microchip embedded in
his forearm. A wave of hatred seemed to come over him. He had only one task- to
kill this man, a failed test and nothing more. He readjusted his rifle; saw
Roger Torrens clearly through the powerful scope, then held his breath as he
squeezed the trigger. The large gun gave a powerful kick and a loud bang. He
had just enough time to refocus when he saw a most unexpected figure, Gary
Hostel, jump into the bullet’s path. He chuckled, knowing that a single body
would not stop the .308 round. But his smile vanished and he gaped in disbelief
when his target caught the bullet, right out of the air.
In
a blur Gary was gone and back, carrying the M82 sniper rifle. People were
racing for cover; some around to the front of the house and others into the
garage through a side door. Gary quickly scanned the mountainside for the
attacker but was unable to find him.
“I’ll find him!” he yelled,
jumping off the deck and taking off at blinding speed into the woods. Roger,
who was hiding in the garage with Mary, Carlos, Pierall, and four others, could
only think about what Gary had just said to him. In dismay he realized his
suspicions were true. Gary was like Otis, at least physically.
How?
he thought desperately, trying to remember any moment where Otis could have
injected him with anything. Then he remembered:
At the end of the battle he’d
asked Otis something…
“What are you?” Otis had knelt
beside him, whispering; “I ought to kill you all, yet it seems fate
has another way of death planned for you,” Otis stabbed him with something, he
now remembered. He had been too numbed and shocked from the fight. For a moment
nothing happened. Suddenly Roger had screamed-a burning sensation was spreading
from his neck.
He couldn’t believe he’d
overlooked that detail. Why else would his head have been in so much pain? A
finger-neck pinch couldn’t do that, it would just knock him unconscious. They
sat on the concrete floor, listening to the soft breeze and shaking of tree
branches outside. Several minutes went by. Then they heard the shots, from two
different guns, coming from the west. There was the distance-muffled sound of a
small explosion.
After another few minutes three
shots rang out from the backyard.
“I’m back, and I brought a
souvenir!” Gary hollered. They stood up in relief, and opened the door. There
Gary stood, covered in blood, dirt, and ash, holding a mutilated arm.
“Good, lord man! Did you have to
keep a trophy?” Carlos asked.
“No, look here, beneath the
skin.” Gary pointed out. They peered closer, and saw it; a small metal square
covered in circuits and wires. A few people coming over gasped at the sight of
Gary holding the detached limb. He looked very much like one of the undead.
“I swear he was being controlled
or something,” Gary described, “He tried to run but turned to fight me, almost
reluctantly. I asked who he was but he would not speak. He had a big red G
painted on his armor, though.” Pierall’s eyes widened for a moment. Roger
noticed, and knew he was thinking the same thing.
“In the end he blew himself apart
with his own grenades. Like he didn’t want us to gain anything from him, or
find out who he is…”
“Grave Club.” Pierall noted,
drawing several looks from the others.
“What?” Gary wondered.
“An evil band of teenagers from
our old camp,” he explained, “Their ‘sign’ was the word GRAVE written in red.”
“They were followers of Otis,
too,” Roger added.
Gary looked confused and fearful.
“This guy wasn’t a teenager- are you sure that the group at your camp was the
only one?”
“Good lord, if there are more of
them then we could be in trouble. Those boys, kids, mind you, were ruthless,”
Pierall said worryingly.
“You know what this means,
right?” Carlos exclaimed. “It means that Otis guy is tracking us!” This brought
on a wave of murmurs and fearful talk:
“They want to kill us all!”
“Why do they want us dead?”
“How did they follow us?”
The talking went on for a while.
Finally Carlos got tired of arguing with Matt Kartchner, who wanted to
personally hunt down the other gang members. He wandered into the garage, where
he found Mason working on a-
"What is that?" Carlos
asked. Mason was holding a large knife, over which he'd wrapped several copper
wires attached to a 9-volt battery duct-taped to the handle. He was ripping
apart a sheet of aluminum foil and wrapping bits around the blade and open
wires.
"I'm gonna laugh if you shock
yourself," Martin joked.
Mason shook his head. "I'm not an idiot.
I haven't connected both ends to the battery."
"How
will electricity help fight against the Seekers more than just the knife
itself?" Carlos inquired.
"If
you hadn't noticed," Mason explained, “Seekers are combustible. Give them
a shock-" he connected the battery and hit the knife on the table, sending
of sparks and leaving a burn mark, "and they will burst into flames."
He smiled evilly.
“Think you can make more?”
“Hell yeah. Just give me more
knives, wires, and batteries.”
“Today was interesting,” Mary
said as she got under the covers. The sky was darkening, but not quite sunset.
She was exhausted. Roger was studying his shoulder in the mirror.
“Tell me about it. Can you
believe we left Keeton yesterday morning? Or that I arrived there only four days
ago?”
“No. Everything’s happening so
quickly.”
Roger chuckled. “Time’s fun when
you’re having flies…”
“What?”
“It’s something one of my old
teachers used to say. It’s nonsense; supposed to be the opposite of-“
“You are so weird,” Mary grinned.
She motioned him over to the bed. He sighed, blew out the candles, and got
under the covers.
Matt Kartchner could not sleep.
He was too busy thinking, planning. There was someone he loved; but did not
love him back. At least not in the way he wanted. To her he was a best friend,
a brother in some ways. Not the type of love he wanted. He sat outside on the deck;
wearing a Broncos hoodie and watching as the moon rose and the last rays of
sunlight disappeared behind the jagged peaks. He heard a wolf howl in the
distance.
Gloria, he was thinking, You
knew it would happen. He was too young for you anyways- we are the same age.
Why is it so depressing for some dude you hardly know to die, but you shot your
own Mother in the head when you had no other choice? You hardly reacted when I
had to… take care of your father, or- the thoughts went on, trying to
justify his feelings and desires.
While contemplating what things
he might try to impress her, make her happy, he heard a gurgling behind him.
Without thinking he swung around,
kicking the Seeker’s legs out from under it. He threw a powerful punch at its
nose, smashing the cartilage and spraying blood everywhere. The creature let
out a “Uuungh...” and wheezed loudly. As it doubled over Matt seized the
struggling body by the neck, wrapping his arms tightly around it and twisting.
The Seeker’s spinal cord snapped, and the body went limp. He took several deep
breathes, staring at the corpse. He went to the garage, quietly pushing the old
wooden side door open, and slipped in. He was looking for an axe, to chop up
the limbs before lighting them on fire. He saw scanned around, at the parked
vehicles and stacked boxes, before seeing something even more useful- Mason’s
zap-knife.
He picked up the strange weapon,
studying it for a moment. He carefully touched the battery to the second wire
tip, and nearly dropped the blade when it let off a brilliant blue flash of
light. Confidently he strode back out to the body, once a fat bald guy; and
started pulling it across the deck, over the driveway, and across the road. It
started breathing again as Matt drug it up a short slope. He didn’t want
anybody to know what had happened. He’d had enough of people freaking out
lately.
The blood would be excusable
after Gary’s stunt earlier that evening. The body, however, he wanted out of
sight. On the other side of the little hill, hidden from view also by bushes
and pines, Matt prepared to destroy the monster. It weakly raised an arm at
him, snatching at the air. “This is for you, Gloria,” Matt whispered. He raised
the knife, which was starting to burn his hand, the bare wires glowing from the
current of electricity.
He knew from the moment the blade
entered the rotting flesh that the weapon worked. The flesh sizzled and
darkened, the creature had small spasms, then, in an instant, exploded. All the
juices; blood, oil, and whatever else ignited in a second. The Seeker was torn
apart from the inside. Matt was splattered with the remains, including-
“What in god’s name?” he
muttered, looking at a large pink mush that hit his shirt. It definitely wasn’t
human. There weren’t any blood vessels, only green and yellow stringy material.
The organ, or whatever it was, was a pulsing, slimy object about the size of a
baseball.
Wanting to vomit, to drop the
disgusting thing, he loosened his grip, and then stuffed it in his jacket
pocket. He figured Gary could use it; study it. Walking back towards the house
he lit a cigarette. It was good timing; Martin Kray was walking across the
front yard towards him.
“How many of those have you been
smoking?” he chuckled.
Matt sighed in relief. “A bunch.
Anxiety issues, man. Can’t take all this stress and drama.”
Martin laughed. “So slowly
murdering yourself helps, huh?”
“Yeah. Want one?” Matt handed the
box Marlboros his friend. Martin happily accepted one.
Day Fifteen of Infection:
An owl woke Roger early in the
morning. The sky was still navy blue; the sun still beneath the horizon. Not
that you could see the horizon behind the tall mounds of rock in the way. A
chilling wind was blowing through the valley, and thick clouds densely covered
the sky; a grey misty ceiling that hugged the surrounding peaks. Drops of water
fell from above, not rain but dew from the canopy formed by the high branches
of the Douglas Firs.
The owl was relentless, hooting
annoyingly for five minutes straight, on a branch close to Roger’s window.
Finally he jumped out of bed and banged a fist against the glass. He saw the
obnoxious bird, no larger than a football, spread its wings and fly off across
the yard. Looking down at the deck he noticed Mason and Gary were chatting.
Mason was holding a bunch of zap-knives, and Gary was tossing them, with poor
accuracy but excellent speed, each blade only a glint of silver speeding over
the trodden turf and over the back fence, which was two hundred feet away.
He left the window and lay back
down next to Mary, who was awake but still drowsy. “I hate the woods,” she
mumbled.
“How’d you sleep?” Roger replied.
“Poorly. I had an awful
nightmare.”
“Do tell.”
Mary rolled over to face him and
smiled. “It’s nothing.” Roger knew she was lying, and rolled his eyes. He
brushed some of her tousled hair aside.
“If it’s nothing then there
shouldn’t be a problem telling me.”
Mary sighed and sat up, leaning
her head on his shoulder. “I got bit and you had to kill me.”
“I wouldn’t do that!” Roger said
in surprise.
“I know,” Mary answered sadly.
“That’s the bad part. In the dream you wouldn’t do it, not even to save
yourself. I ended up eating you alive..” Her voice trailed off into sniffles.
Roger understood what she meant but did not know how to respond. She looked at
him; saw the worry in his eyes.
“Promise me if I ever get
infected and we haven’t found a cure you will do the right thing. You have to
survive.”
Reluctantly he nodded. If he was
too weak to kill her reanimated body, how could he properly protect the group?
“How come after all the special
enhancements Otis gave you, you still have awful aim with a throwing knife?”
Mason laughed as he watched Gary toss knife after knife, all missing the target
box leaning against the fence.
“Well sorry for being only the
second most impressive person alive,” Gary retorted, flinging the last of eight
zap-knives. I lodged itself deep in one of the tree branches, which splintered
upon impact and, after several seconds of cracking and tearing, fell to the
ground with a loud thud. The branch was at least six inches thick, the broken
end smoldering slightly.
Gary leaped down from the deck
and retrieved all the knives before they could start any fires. When he
returned Mason jokingly asked him;
“So if a tree falls in the forest
and nobody is around to hear it does it still make a sound?”
Gary raised an eyebrow. “What?
It’s an honest question!” Mason replied.
“Yes, of course it does. Sound
does not exist simply for us to hear it, it’s made everywhere by almost
everything.”
“Can’t hear nothing in space.”
“True, because sound needs
something to travel through.”
“Well that makes Star Wars look
stupid. How can you have an epic space battle without hearing all the
explosions?”
Both men were laughing when Roger
joined them, looking upset. Mason noticed first-
“What’s bringing you down on this
cheerful morning?” he inquired.
“What?” Roger mumbled,
distracted. He rubbed his eyes and sat down in one of the many wooden lawn
chairs. He was still in pajamas- black sweats and a tan t-shirt.
“Nothing,” he decided, “tired.”
“Want to toss a few ZKs?” Mason
offered. Roger grabbed one, squinted at the target, arched his arm, and gave a
powerful flick of the wrist. Handle over blade the weapon spun across the yard
and landed in the bull’s-eye 65 yards away. Gary whistled, and Mason stared in
surprise.
“You two both are really special,
aren’t you?” Mason muttered.
Mary found Gloria in the kitchen
eating oatmeal. The room was still dark; none of the candles were lit and the
back window was too small to let in any of the early morning light. There was a
quiet clinking of a spoon against her bowl as she took tiny bites.
“How are you feeling, sweetie?”
Mary kindly asked.
“Better,” Gloria said calmly, “I did
a lot of thinking last night. The guys are right.”
“About what?”
“I’m over-reacting. I didn’t know
Paul. I only spoke to him for a minute. But the look in his eyes, what he
said…” she trailed off.
“Oh. Honey, I’m sorry,” Mary
tried to comfort her; “But you have plenty of time left. We are safe here. Your
friends are really nice and are only trying to help, not hurt you or tarnish
your memories. They’re just…boys. They don’t know much.” Gloria grinned, and
Mary giggled at her own joke.
Loud creaks on the floor let them
know Carlos was up and about, him being the largest person in the group. He
came down the hallway holding his arms tightly around his chest, breathing
heavily. His broken ribs, though low on the rib cage and supported by large gauze
wraps, were causing him a lot of pain. He hardly felt it during the purge due
to adrenaline, but now the agony was back with vengeance.
“Cast not helping much?” Gloria
wondered.
“Hell yeah it is!” Carlos
muttered, “I wouldn’t be walking without it!”
“Did you take some meds?”
“I’m out of pain killers. Will
anti-depressants work?”
“I’ve heard of people doing that,
but I wouldn’t try it,” Gloria told him, glancing at her own bottle of pills
next to her bowl.
“Come, on just let me have a few,
please,” Carlos begged.
“What you need is morphine,” Mary
explained, standing up and heading for the front door. “I’ll talk to Gary and
see if he has any…”
Taylor awoke late that morning.
Well, was woken up. Lissette threw a few pillows first, poked her in the
stomach, and then proceeded to just roll her out of bed. The whole time Taylor
tried, like always, to act asleep. Until she hit the floor.
“I hate it when you do that!” She
exclaimed. “It’s not fair, I have to lose.”
“Wake up before me then…” her
sister joked.
Annoyed, Taylor climbed to her
feet and kicked Lissette in the shin.
“Hey, not cool!” Lissette whined.
Then, breaking the peaceful
morning silence and drawing their attention to the south came a faraway
gunshot. The girls screamed and dropped to the floor in fear.
"Is it another sniper?"
Taylor exclaimed, ducking behind the bed. Lissette threw open the door and
pulled her younger sister out into the hall and down the stairs. They passed
Gloria and Carlos, saying "did you hear the gunshot?" and where's Gary?"
then found him as he burst into the foyer. "Everybody alright in
here?" he yelled.
"Yeah," the girls
gasped, out of breath. "Is there another sniper?"
"No," Gary replied.
"I don't think so. A few of the guys just left a minute ago, probably saw
something that needed shooting. I got worried when I heard you
screaming..."
"Oh." Taylor said
dumbly. "Sorry."
Gary shrugged. "It’s good to
be ready for anything these days. Don't let your guard down, but don't freak
out all the time either."
"Why'd they leave?"
Lissette wondered.
"They're gonna search for
medical supplies, and scavenge for anything else they can find."
"Sorry Taylor freaked
out," Lissette apologized. Taylor angrily punched her in the gut. She
keeled over, laughing.
"You did too! Just cause
you're an adult doesn't mean you aren't as immature as me!" Lissette
playfully tugged at her hair.
"Girls, stop. Come on.
You're fighting over immaturity? Really?" They heard a loud snort from the
kitchen, and all started laughing.
Meanwhile, Roger, Mason, and
Pierall where hiking up the dirt road. They had heard the shot too, and where
being cautious, scanning this way and that for any sign of a gunman.
"Might have been someone
passing through, or a hunter. It is the Rocky Mountains.” Mason was saying.
“We don’t want to find out, if
they’re hostile.” Pierall pointed out.
As they neared the top of the
hill, where the dirt road met the highway, Roger realized this was the perfect opportunity
for a GRAVE member to strike. Even carrying the Benelli M4, AR-50, and AK-101
they could be taken on by a human with the right gun skills. At least a Seeker
wouldn’t stand a chance.
Next to the highway was a small
fire station. The sign said Pinewood Springs Fire Protection.
“Thought this was part of Lyons,”
said Mason
“Nah, Lyons is just the closest
familiar town.”
They walked to the closed
garages, listening for any sounds inside.
“This place is guaranteed to have
a first-aid kit,” Mason told them.
“Not if it was looted earlier.”
Pierall rejected.
Roger twisted the knob to the
front door. It was stiff but opened. He stepped inside, holding the door open
to let in light. The place was dark and a mess: it looked like those who could
not make it to a hospital stopped here. There were dozens of body bags, and
several more corpses stacked on tables, piled on floors. The other two came in,
and cursed at the sight of the interior. Roger spotted a chair and grabbed it,
meaning to put it in the doorway. Then he found a double barrel in his face.
Mason and Pierall let out yells
as a few of the bodies moved, grabbing their legs and pulling them to the
floor. Roger raised his shot gun to his opponent’s face: a dark, curly haired
man with a goatee and multiple face piercings.
The four other men stood up,
holding M16s and Uzis. They kicked aside Mason’s and Pierall’s weapons. Mason
pulled a ‘ZK’ (as he called the electric knives) out of his pocket and stabbed
the closest man in the shin. He screamed in agony as the electrified blade dug
deep into his muscle. He aimed his gun at Mason’s face about to shoot, until
the man next to Roger hollered;
“Hold on!” He nudged his gun at
Roger and shouted, “Who the hell are you?”
“We’re only scavenging. Sorry to
break in.” Roger explained.
“Scavenging with guns?” the man
remarked.
“I guess we had good reason,” Roger
decided, lifting his M4 to the guy’s head.
The man who’d been stabbed was
pissed. Impatient, he asked; “Can I shoot this motherfu-“
“NO.” The leader ordered. He
looked at Roger and laughed. “Man this has been a misunderstanding. See my bros
and I, we get a bit defensive when sketchy characters arrive at our
safe-house.”
“I’m sorry we barged in.” Roger
apologized.
The other men were shaking their
heads angrily. “Yo, Brady! Snap back to reality!” the injured one begged,
wanting very much to fill Mason with holes.
The leader, Brady, shook his
head. “These guys mean no harm. Let em’ go.”
"You probably just saved all
of our lives," Roger replied, showing them a handful of frag grenades.
The others groaned and lowered
their guns. Mason and Pierall climbed back to their feet and retrieved theirs.
“So what did you shoot a minute
ago?” Brady asked, stepping out of the doorway to make room for Mason and
Pierall to exit. Roger shook his head, confused. “I though since you had the
guns you were the shooter?” he told him.
“Then who was it?” the injured
one asked.
“Found them,” Mason growled,
pointing out the door.
We have reached the middle of Season 2. For an Extended Preview of the second half read the Mid-Season Break post on Friday 3/29 at normal scheduled time (12:30 Mountain/ 11:30 Pacific). The Break will last Three Weeks, with the show starting again April 12. If there is a popular demand the break will end a week early. See: https://www.facebook.com/DeadLimit for more information.