Previously, On Dead Limit:
“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."
“Promise me if I ever get infected and we haven’t found a cure you will do the right thing. You have to survive.”
“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?”
“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…”
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.
"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.
Next to the highway was a small fire station. The sign said Pinewood Springs Fire Protection.
Roger twisted the knob to the front door. 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.
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.
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.
---...---
Roaring down the road, almost out of gas, a lone biker sped around the tight turns and bends of the rocky mountain highway. The rider, a woman wearing a ragged police uniform, knew there was a town maybe twenty miles away and was desperately priming the ignition, trying to suck out all remaining fumes from the tank. To her dismay the bike gave a stuttering cough and died, leaving her with only the leftover momentum to provide speed. She managed to turn one last corner, and then shrieked as a deer leaped into the road directly ahead. She swerved just in time, but hit the guard rail before she could react further. Whether it was luck or not, the woman was thrown off the motorcycle on the road side of the rail, barely missing a fifty foot fall into the rapids churning in the ravine below. Covered in new scrapes and bruises the woman clambered to her feet, dusted off her uniform and started walking.
"Found them," Mason growled, pointing out the door. Roger and Brady came over to see. It was a woman, in a tattered uniform worn by Denver police officers. She looked Asian; however her features were heavily obscured by bruises and dried blood. Her dark hair, which would normally be shoulder-length, was a tangled nest around her head. A sheathed katana was slung over her shoulder, there was a holstered pistol at her waist, and she was aiming an M16 shakily towards them.
"Don't shoot," Roger said cautiously. The look on the woman's blood-crusted face was that of someone with nothing to lose. Roger was afraid of her snapping at any moment.
She shook her head slightly. In a raspy voice she replied, "What makes you any better than the other thugs? Why do you deserve life?" She glanced behind them at the members of Brady's group.
"We aren't... thugs," Roger explained. "Just a group of survivors trying to make the best of things."
"Small group."
"There's more, a camp in the valley," Roger told her. Mason glared at him.
"What's your name, lady?" Mason asked.
The woman sighed and lowered her weapon. Tiredly she answered, "Angela Walker."
"You fired your gun earlier?" Pierall questioned as he stepped outside to join the conversation.
Angela frowned. "No, I ran into a guy down the road. He was... crazed. Fired his last shot at me."
"You killed him?" Brady assumed. Angela shuddered.
"No."
"He's still alive then? Followed you?"
"No."
Roger looked at her, wondering... "He turned?" Mason glanced at him in surprise, but Angela nodded.
"It was..." She coughed and fell to her knees. Pierall approached her but she raised a hand muttering, "I'm fine." She struggled to stand, but fainted. Mason took a step back, appalled. Roger and Pierall slowly moved towards her limp body.
"Is she infected?" One of Brady's men questioned warily.
Mason stayed back as the rest surrounded the woman. Her body twitched, surprising a few of them. The man Mason had stabbed whipped out his gun. She let out a groan, and then under her breath muttered something. "Ashes..." Brady gave Roger a puzzled looked, but they knelt close to listen: "ashes...we all... fall down..."
"Where do you think you're off too?" a voice yelled from off the road. Angela, exhausted, paused and scanned the shrubbery. Out stepped a young man with a scraggly beard, wearing a plaid shirt and muddy jeans. He staggered towards her and continued in a drunken tone, "Bad time for a cycle, darling. You're a ..." he knelt and heaved a mix of red and yellow liquid. She winced at the disgusting sound and turned away, stumbling down the highway.
"Listen, bitch..." the drunk growled, pulling a revolver from somewhere in his pants. He wiped the bile from his face and smiled. "Youain’t going nowhere now." With a wild laugh he pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. Angela gasped and started running, the crazy man hot on her heel. She heard the gun clicking, sounding much closer than it should.
Her lungs burning, muscles screaming, she fell to the asphalt. The man laughed again as he caught up, took aim, and actually fired a round. She rolled away instinctively, but it was unnecessary; in his state the man couldn't hit anything with precision. The bullet bounced harmlessly off the road with a ping!
He stared blankly at her, seeming confused that he'd missed. "Why aren't you dead?" he mumbled absently. Angela smirked and delivered a sharp kick to his crotch. He flinched, glanced down, and then toppled over, his head giving a loud thunk when it hit the ground.
She scooted away, trying to process what had happened. He was drunk, she thought, must've passed out spontaneously. She got up, groaning from the soreness throughout her body. She picked up the revolver, but threw it aside knowing it was empty. She was about to walk away when she heard a low gurgle. She froze. The man's body twitched unnaturally. How? She thought. The body lying before her was reanimating quicker than she thought was possible. She grabbed the hilt of her sword but froze again when he spoke. In a raspy, lifeless voice it repeated the host's final words: "Why aren’t you dead?"
The voice seemed to echo in her mind, "Why aren’t you dead?" She rubbed her eyes and downed another shot. "Why-"
"Angela?" a familiar voice screamed over the memory. Blinking away the thoughts brought on by the whiskey she was drinking, Angela took in her surroundings. The bar was nearly empty. A couples guys were roaring at the Broncos game showing on the big TVs. The guy approaching her, a suave young Hispanic and her best friend. Seeing her in such poor state he grimaced. "Miguel," Angela whispered. "Come on," Miguel replied, "We need to get you home now. As he pulled her from the stool Angela noticed the room had gone quiet. The televisions were no longer showing the Broncos game, instead news reporters were speaking urgently, and clips of police shooting civilians flashed across the screen.
"Turn the volume up!" Miguel requested.
"Haven't seen anything like this before...” the newswoman was saying.”Officers are being forced to open fire on these people, who seem to have gone mad and are killing innocent bystanders. Oh my god, they're eating people!" The camera panned, showing a barricade of squad vehicles in front of a hospital. The image zoomed in on a bloody doctor, missing an arm. Angela and Miguel gaped as they watched the doctor kneel by a fallen officer and bite his neck.
She shut her eyes, not wanting to believe it. The question still floated in her mind. Had she been on duty that night, she would have been killed during the slaughter at the hospital. If Miguel hadn't come back to help at the station, surely she'd have died. Even NORAD, the place thought to be haven, had turned into a trap. Somehow she'd survived it all. The fallout. Motorcycle crash. Highway drunk. All of it. Why aren't you dead? She asked herself.
"How is she?" Mary asked. Roger and the guys had returned with several new "guests" as Gary had announced, although most of the group disagreed. The man named Brady and his "gang" couldn't be trusted, according to Pierall, who was now interrogating them in the garage.
"Angela's fine now," Gary assured her, closing the door to his room and going down the spiral staircase.
"What are the odds though?" Mary wondered aloud as she followed.
"She abandoned you at NORAD, drove through a fallout-ridden, destroyed Denver and managed to meet your ex at a random building and a random time?" He chuckled as he reached the kitchen, opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. "I'd say those are some strange odds. But we all know the saying-" he popped the cap off and raised his bottle "-it's a small world."
"Indeed it is," Carlos said in a booming voice, as if his heavy footsteps didn't announce his arrival. "Can you grab me one? He asked, nodding at Gary's drink. Mary shook her head.
"Not right now, you should be resting." She told him, teasingly poking at his gauze-wrapped ribcage. He winced away and she laughed.
"Don't even joke about it, Mary! It hurts like hell, you just can't see through the tough guy facade."
"Ha! Knew it was an act all the time." Martin exclaimed, entering the room with Matt.
"Our best fighter's a phony!" Matt added, lighting a cigarette.
"Not in the house please." Gary warned. Matt smirked and flicked it into the living room. In a blink Gary was there to catch it, glaring at them. "Really?" he said, exasperated.
"We just wanted to see you do the super-speed thing again," Martin explained cheerily.
"I know." Gary sighed. They laughed, and he joined them. "You think its funny right?" he asked, with a smile too big to be real. Mary and Carlos watched in shock as he disappeared, and was suddenly inches away from the boys, holding a knife to each of their throats. His eyes were glowing a deep green, veins pulsing.
"How about now?" he whispered. They shook their heads fearfully. "This is the apocalypse. Someday we all must learn to grow up." He backed away, staring angrily at them. "So, we were talking about Angela?" he said happily, expression changing suddenly. "Yep." Mary answered, while the boys, too scared to speak, left the room silently. Carlos gave Gary a high-five a snorted.
"Who's the real actor?" he said humorously.
"It's wrong of them to treat you that way..." Mary muttered.
"You mean treat me like a freak?" Gary asked, taking a gulp from his bottle. "I've had worse. Trust me." He set the empty bottle down. "I'm going to check in on the interviews." he decided aloud.
"The interrogations, you mean?" Carlos corrected.
"Now that sounds a little harsh, doesn't it?" Gary commented.
The garage was dark. One of the vehicles had been replaced with a table and two chairs, occupied by Pierall and Brady. The four others stood off to the side, listening quietly.
"So you were all on a baseball team?" Pierall inquired.
"In Estes Park. We played against another group every now and then. Just for kicks."
"You were in the station how long?"
"Two nights," Brady calmly answered. Pierall sighed; if Brady was hiding anything he sure wasn't going to find out this way.
"Can I get your names now?" Brady shook his head and opened his mouth, but it was his friend who spoke.
"Alejandro. Alex for short." One replied. Pierall nodded. "Mason stabbed you... we can get that wound checked out if you like."
"I won't need help, its melted shut, remember?"
Brady stood up and held up a hand to silence him. "Look man, we're appreciate your offer to stay, but I think we're ok on our own."
"Your men seem to disagree," Pierall observed. They looked weary, hungry, and quite frankly: scared.
The door flew open, light flooding the garage as Gary stepped in. "You can go now," he told Pierall, who grumbled and got up to leave.
"How about a new offer: We clear out a nearby house for you nearby, and in return you help us build a new life here."
"What do you mean a new life?" Alex asked.
"We'll clear out the neighborhood, start a settlement. Eventually build a wall. Start farming."
"You're insane," Brady replied. "It's a great idea, but it won't work."
"We'll see." Gary said absent-mindedly. "In the mean time you're welcome to hang around here, well get a couple guys to help you." He went to the door and paused. "What were your names?"
"Brady," Brady answered, "and Alex, Juan, Morgan and Daniel."
Gary smiled, "Nice to meet you. Welcome to the Lion's Den."
Angela woke up screaming. The nightmares were so vivid, so real; she had a hard time distinguishing memory from reality. Right now, she was in a bed. This bed was in a room with wooden walls covered in furs and giant stuffed animal heads. She felt the ache in her muscles and the warmth of the blankets, and decided she must be awake. Slowly Angela sat up and stretched, when the door burst open and two teenage girls dashed in.
"Is everything alright, miss?" the older looking one asked, sounding worried. Angela wanted to speak, but was fighting another wave of exhaustion. Her vision blurred and she felt light-headed, however she managed to speak the one question on her mind: "Why am I not dead?" before slipping back into darkness.
"The woman's delirious," Lissette was saying to Mary a few minutes later in the living room. Her older sister, Taylor, was busy washing dishes but added: “I can't help feeling like she's infected."
"Taylor..." Mary warned.
"I know. Gary said there weren't any bite marks. Still..."
Lissette got off the couch a joined her sister. "What about those men?"
"They look like drug users, or gangsters as the old man believes."
"If anything happens, Gary will take care of it," Mary reminded them.
Thunk! The knife hit the tree handle-first and fell to the ground. Snap! Another knife split a medium branch halfway.
"Still practicing with those?" Mason asked, joining Roger by the artificial waterfall in the backyard. Roger was up on one of the boulders, a pile of normal knives lying at his feet.
"They aren't tomahawks but they'll work for quiet fighting." Roger said, flinging one more into the yard before climbing down.
"Gary has a job for us; we need to help clear a house for the new folks." Mason announced as they climbed the stairs to the deck where Carlos was lounging.
"Damn it," Roger remembered, "He needs meds."
"Ah hell, forgot about that. Hope the new house has a first aid kit." Carlos snored loudly, and Mason grinned. "He's at peace for now."
"How did you find us?" Mary asked. It was later that afternoon; the guys had already left to find another house to use. She was kneeling next to Angela's bed, having a one-sided conversation. Angela was in a deep sleep; Mary had tried waking her but couldn't. She knew Angela was still alive, she was breathing and had a healthy pulse, but showed no sign of coming to.
"It just doesn't seem possible," Mary continued, "There's no way we could meet in the same place taking such different paths." She looked at Angela, unmoving, silent; she’d been such a mess when they brought her in that morning bloodstained and crazed. Gary had cleaned her up and let her use the bed; not to Lissette and Taylor's liking.
"I'm glad you found us though. I hope you get better soon." She walked out quietly and closed the door. She considered locking it from inside, but decided it wasn't worth it. Laughter rang from downstairs. Dinner was ready.
The house had a foreboding presence to it. It was the third down the road, the first to not have obvious damage. The door and windows were intact, and there was a nice car parked in the long driveway. The place was built far from the road, surrounded by trees. The low sunlight glanced off the bright blue roof, creating a glare that made them shade their eyes as they approached the house.
"Oh sweet baby Jesus," Brady whistled when they reached the car. It was a year-old Infiniti convertible, and to his joy, it was spotless. "Thank you," he said to the sky. His friends smiled looking at the car.
"Comes with the house, right?" Daniel asked.
Roger and Mason kept walking, ignoring the car. They were intent on getting the job done and getting out, still not comfortable being alone with near-strangers.
"Hurry up," Mason ordered; the guys were still gawking at the convertible.
Mason raised a leg to kick the door in, but Roger got it the way and twisted the handle. To his surprise, the door opened. Roger raised the shotgun, ready to fire if a Seeker jumped out.
"Mason and I will take this floor, the rest of you split up and get the rest," Roger ordered. They entered spread out: Brady went upstairs with Juan and Morgan while Daniel and Alex headed to the garage. Meanwhile Roger found the kitchen, a last meal still laid out on the table. Flies buzzed around loudly and the smell was nauseating, but he pulled his shirt over his nose to block it. He opened the cabinets but found them empty, except for stacks of dishes. No food.
"Any canned goods?" Mason hollered from the next room.
"Nothing!" Roger yelled back. He opened the fridge, only to find more flies. He heard a gunshot upstairs, then another. Mason came into the kitchen, looking upset.
"Damn, the owners were upstairs." He shook his head sadly; Roger patted him on the back.
"You killed a lot at Estes. Isn't that enough for a week?"
"I'll get them next time." Mason assured himself. Then they heard Juan scream.
Roger skipped steps up the stairs and dashed into the hallway, running into Brady.
"Juan!" Brady shouted, running into the room and opening fire with his Uzi. The female Seeker's head looked like swiss cheese before breaking apart, however the headless body continued to thrash around wildly, standing over Juan, a chunk of his flesh torn from his calf.
"It won't die!" Brady exclaimed. He fumbled through his pockets and discovered he was out of ammo.
"Out of my way!" Mason hollered, pushing him aside and stabbing an electrified knife into the corpse's chest. In a second it shook all over, suddenly burst into flames and collapsed.
"Shooting them isn't enough," he explained to Brady, who looked astonished. "You have to blow them up, rip them into pieces, or burn these sons of the devil."
"Is Juan bit?" Morgan asked, walking into the room fearfully. He took a sharp breath when he saw the bite in his friend's leg.
"I have an idea," Mason announced, placing his knife just below Juan's knee. "Maybe amputation can save him."
"No," Brady said sadly.
"Why not? It can't spread that fast!" Morgan argued.
"His stomach," Roger pointed out. Unnoticed before, Juan's side had been clawed open. A loop of small intestine was hanging limply out of the hole. Morgan covered his mouth and turned away.
"Guys! We have company!" Alex yelled from downstairs. Mason looked at Brady, who nodded silently. Everyone left the room to see what the issue was save Mason, who drove the blade into Juan's skull. His body gave a jolt, but there was not fire. Mason pulled the knife out, wiped sweat off his brow, and stabbed Juan's corpse in the heart. His bloody shirt caught on fire, nearly burning Mason's hand when he pulled the knife back out and stabbed again. And again. He couldn't stop himself, he hated the monster this dead man would become, could not allow it to happen.
"Mason?" he heard Roger call. Splattered in blood Mason watched the body burn before him, and then decided his work was done, stamped out the flames, hitting harder than necessary out of fury. He ran into Roger as he stepped into the hallway, who worriedly said,
"There's a lot more outside now."
Mason grinned.
Carlos felt drunk. At least the pain was gone. An empty bottle of pills sat on the counter, and his reflection in the bathroom mirror showed he was sweating profusely. He wanted to hurl, and almost did, bending over the toilet just in case, although nothing came out. On top of all these side effects, he felt drowsy. Gary had given him the bedroom next to his; it was just down the hall. Clumsily he made his way out into the hall. He heard lots of noise from downstairs, dinner was in session. He came to his door, and accidentally tripped himself. Carlos fell backwards into Gary's door, knocking it open. Dizzy, the world went topsy-turvy, and he found his face in the carpet.
"Ugh," Carlos grunted. Even through the painkillers he could feel sharp stabbing in his ribcage. Crap, he thought. He coughed, spitting blood. Then he saw her.
"Help..." he pleaded, barely breathing. In his distorted vision it took him a moment to realize what he was seeing. The woman, Angela, was kneeling beside him, growling. Wait, he thought desperately, the drowsiness taking full effect as she bit into his neck.