Condemn (BUNKER 12 Book 2) Read online

  But then, every single step he took away from the bus, away from the safety it represented, had been utter torture for him. Loneliness fell upon his soul even while he was still in the vehicle's shadow, crushing him like a terrible weight. Yet he refused to change his mind. He refused to look up at the faces staring quietly down at him as he passed. He knew that if he did, he'd chicken out and get back on the bus. And he'd never be able to forgive himself for it.

  He might even resent Bren.

  The only thing that kept him going was knowing that Harper would not have second-guessed the decision at all.

  One step at a time, that's how he went, counting silently. One foot in front of the other and his mind filled with hatred for himself for how angry he knew Bren would be when she woke.

  He very nearly did turn around when he heard the bus start to pull away. He was blind to the road then, blinded by his tears, feeling as much as hearing the sound of the fading engine as it receded into the distance.

  "Bang, you're dead," Bix said, grabbing him from behind and scaring the crap out of him.

  "Jesus!" Finn spun around, expecting the bus to have returned. It hadn't. It was gone. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "Watching your back, apparently. I've been, like, three steps behind you for the past ten minutes."

  "Does your dad know?"

  "Of course, dummy! Everyone knows. Well, everyone except Bren, but she'll find out soon enough." He shuddered. "Glad I won't be there for that scene."

  "Thanks for setting my mind at ease."

  "Then my work here is done."

  "You shouldn't even be here! You need to go back! You're supposed to go to the evac center!"

  "Okay, I'll just sit here and wait for the next bus."

  Finn gave him a dirty look.

  "You're stuck with me, man, so let's move. I don't like being out here on the open road." He began to walk, leaving Finn to stand alone. "I think I saw a cutoff for the river up ahead. We might be able to save a bunch of time if we take it."

  Finn turned one last time, in case the bus magically appeared. Then he ran to catch up with his friend.

  "I hope you brought sunscreen," Bix said. "You know how easily I burn."

  That had been the day before yesterday. They'd made good time, taking Bix's shortcut despite Finn's doubts. And by that first evening, they'd made it all the way back to the top of the gorge, where they made camp without a fire. Neither slept a wink that night.

  The next morning, as soon as the sky began to lighten, they descended to the river, reaching it shortly after noon. They were in desperate need of water by then and greedily refilled their canteens and their stomachs.

  They had encountered no Wraiths along the way, though at times it certainly seemed like it wasn't for lack of trying. At least three times they'd forgotten themselves; their voices were loud enough to echo back from the opposite side of the canyon. Twice it was for arguing, one of those times over whose morning breath stunk worse, which really wasn't an argument, since they both agreed that it was Bix. The argument was more about what exactly it stunk like.

  The other time, it was because they couldn't figure out how to jump start a car they found on the road. Bix had half of the wires cut and short-circuited beneath the dash before Finn thought to check to see if the battery had any juice left in it. It hadn't, so it didn't matter.

  They'd spent the next hour after that arguing over who would've driven had they managed to get the damn thing started.

  "I'm older," Finn reasoned.

  "Have you ever even driven anything before?" Bix countered.

  "Yes."

  "Besides a golf cart."

  "Then, no."

  "Well, I learned how to drive when I was twelve. Dad had me running errands for him when he was doing his gigs. Cars, vans, trucks, motorcycles—"

  "You know how to ride a motorcycle?"

  "Yup. It's easy."

  "Bet your mom loved that."

  That comment had brought the conversation to an abrupt and uncomfortable end. Bix grew sullen, which made Finn feel guilty for mentioning her. She'd left him and his father shortly before the Flense hit, so she was almost certainly dead. Or worse.

  The next hour passed in silence.

  "How far upriver did that guy say Bunker Two was?"

  "I told you, about a hundred and eighty miles," Finn replied. They were getting close to the top of the canyon again, following the road as it wound through the trees. It occasionally drew them away from the river so they lost their view of the other side. He knew they were close to the top because the other rim was nearly at eye level.

  "And how far do you think we've gone?" Bix asked.

  "Since the bus? Maybe forty miles. But we're probably only about twenty miles upriver from the dam."

  "Damn."

  "Yeah, about twenty."

  "No, damn. As in, 'Damn, that's all?' I'm not sure these shoes'll last another hundred and sixty miles."

  "Soon as we find a store or something, we'll stock up on food and water, get us both some good walking shoes. There's bound to be something along the way."

  The mention of water made Finn thirsty, and he pulled out his canteen. Despite their thirst the day before, Bix had expressed disgust at the idea of drinking water drawn straight out of the river, at least until Finn pointed out that they'd pretty much been doing that for the past three years anyway. The tap water in the bunker was just the same river water, only passed through metal filters which probably didn't do much more than get rid of the silt. And they both agreed it tasted much better than the stale bottled stuff they'd found in the dead car.

  "Some shoes and some decent camping gear, too," Finn added. "Batteries, flashlights—"

  "I'd rather just get some good driving gloves for the next car we find, which will be a Maserati, I think. Bright yellow. Oh, and a nice soft bed in a nice secure five-star hotel would be awesome. A hotel with a valet."

  "You figure out how to start that Maserati and I'll personally get you the best damn driving gloves money can buy and put you up in a five-star hotel myself."

  Bix snorted. "Post-apocalyptic Finn's a big spender—"

  "Shh! Quiet!"

  They pulled up short and listened.

  "What'd you hear?"

  Finn cocked his head into the breeze. "I thought—"

  "There!"

  Finn grabbed Bix by the arm and they made for the trees. The ground was covered in soft pine needles, and yet their footsteps sounded insanely loud to their ears. Dry twigs snapped beneath their feet as they hurried deeper into the forest. They soon found themselves climbing the steep slope to get out of sight of the road.

  "Wait!" Finn whispered.

  They pulled up behind a wide tree and crouched down.

  "Wraiths?" Bix asked.

  Finn shook his head and held his finger up to his lips. "We'd have never heard them," he said, keeping his voice as low as possible.

  The Wraiths, terrible creatures with dead eyes, hunted their prey in complete silence. They moved with a ghostly stealth and speed that seemed inhuman.

  Except that they were human. Or, they had once been.

  Three years ago, the Flense had spread with the same stealthy speed that characterized the creatures it infected. Having never seen anything like it before, everyone was caught unawares. The infected didn't appear dangerous to people, they just seemed in a strange sort of daze. They walked right up to their unsuspecting victims, and all it took was a single touch to pass on the disease.

  If it hadn't been for his father's quick thinking, Finn would have become one of them.

  A lot of the creatures took to walking on all fours, using their hands for stability. It made their movements seem awkward. But when they ran, they ran upright, still jerkily, but with such reckless speed that it was terrifying to behold.

  The only time they broke their silence was right before and after they became enraged, when their need to pass on the infection was somehow overcom
e by their need to kill. In that altered state, they became ravenous creatures, fearsome and merciless. In such a state, they would not stop until they had utterly destroyed their human prey with their teeth and nails. They would devour flesh and bones and hair — sometimes, even, clothing — until nothing was left but a few tattered remains, a large puddle of blood, and fragments of tissue.

  When confronted by a Wraith, a person had two choices: submit and become one of them, or resist and be torn to shreds.

  "It sounds like—" Finn began.

  "Horses!" Bix hissed and pointed through the trees. "It's horses! And people!" He stood up and started running down the slope before Finn could stop him.

  He caught up to Bix in time to see the lead horseback rider pull back on his reins. The man shouted at them to stop, but their momentum carried them forward, tumbling through the dead litter. The man moved quickly, raising his arm into the air. Finn caught a glimpse of a gun pointed directly at Bix's head.

  "No!" he shouted and pushed his friend away. It was all he managed to do before the world exploded. A hot white fog overtook him, searing his skin and eyes with a flash so brilliant that it blinded him.

  Pain engulfed his mind, became fire. Then ice.

  Then came the darkness.

  Danny was back behind the wheel again when they arrived on the outskirts of a small town. The dozen or so former business establishments seemed to huddle together along the main strip, as if in mutual self-preservation. The road was one of two cutting through the town, and where it met the other, a dead street light hung, tugging heavily on fraying wires.

  It was late. The sun had gone from being a giant white spider's egg sac to a rotten pumpkin sagging beneath its own weight on the porch of the horizon. Night would soon follow, and they were in need of shelter and food.

  Jonah's mood had been sour for two days. It began after Danny bottomed the bus out. They'd had a hard time getting it started again.

  Jonah eventually found a blockage in the air intake manifold and the engine started right up after it was cleared. But by then it was nearing dark and they were forced to make camp on top of the bus, as far off of the desert floor as possible.

  Thirteen miles. That's all they'd managed to drive since discovering the old tire tracks before the engine quit once more. The next day, they decided to do a thorough systems check, as they didn't want to drain the battery with multiple attempts to restart it. Before they knew it, night was descending once again.

  Their diligence had paid off, however, as the bus roared convincingly to life the next day, but their caution also came with a price. Both food and water were depleted, and the oil level was dangerously low. Jonah fretted over the leak like a mother hen.

  To make matters worse, the poor baby, Jorge, had come down with a terrible cough that kept them all awake through the long night. They feared that the noise would draw Wraiths to their location.

  He had likely caught the bug from Jonathan, one of the guards they had discovered hiding in the tunnel by the dam. In the beginning, they'd simply dismissed Jonathan's cough as a consequence of the horrible conditions under which he had been forced to live. Maybe it was. And maybe the baby suffered from the same condition. But the wet, drowning sound and the ugly green phlegm evoked memories of the terrible flu pandemic which had stricken the world two years before the Flense.

  Danny slowed to a stop at the edge of the town and let the bus idle in the middle of the road. "What do you think?" he asked the others.

  It was the first real evidence of civilization they'd encountered since leaving Finn and Bix behind at that paltry highway pullout. But if the buildings raised their chances of finding other survivors like themselves, it also raised the threat level. Where there were houses, there had once been people. And where there were once people, there might still be Wraiths.

  The closest building was a small single-story home. Its yard had overgrown with weeds that had since choked themselves into a thick brown scab. The white paneled sides were rendered gray with dust and turned brittle from the heat and sunlight. Several of the boards had slipped, exposing the rotting wood underneath. During the rainy season, mold grew on the roof, but it had long since dried, staining the shingles a dark greenish-brown. Fingers of thistle and sage curled over the sides of the rain gutters. Cataracts of dust and cobwebs filmed the windows nearly opaque.

  To Danny's alarm, he realized the curtains were all drawn behind them. Recalling Susan's words, he pictured the houses filled with dusty corpses.

  Or worse.

  They'd have died by now. They're not immortal. They live and breathe and need to eat just like us.

  But hadn't that been the very same reasoning Jonah used to convince them they were all gone? He shuddered, as if trying to dispel from his mind the image of those terrible things crawling about inside those decrepit homes, patiently waiting week after week and month after month for someone new to come along to infect or eat.

  He turned in his seat and asked again what to do.

  Jonah rose. He carried an empty backpack and a heavy metal rod for self-defense, should it be necessary. "We need food, shelter, water," he said. "And motor oil. And gasoline."

  "What do I do with the bus?"

  "Just pull up next to the intersection and park it there. Don't turn it off. We'll sit a bit and see if anything comes out to welcome us."

  "You know, there'll probably be cars here," Kari Mueller said. "We could swap this monstrosity for smaller vehicles, maybe a couple pickup trucks. Or a van or two."

  "Bus would still be better," Jonah replied. "It's big enough to hold all of us. And it's higher up off the ground. Easier to defend."

  "But the windows are broken," Kari countered. "And if it fails again like it did back there, we'll be completely stranded."

  "She's got a point," Harry Rollins said.

  Jonah made a face.

  "We know you fixed the bus and all, and we're grateful, but—"

  "Fine. Kari, you and Harry see what you can find. Cover the right side of the street; we'll cover the left. Gather all the food and water you can. Also look for guns and ammo, weapons. Danny, you'll be with me. We're looking for motor oil. If we're lucky, we'll also find gasoline in sealed tanks."

  "What about us?" Nami Thuylan asked, gesturing at the other two ex-guards, Jonathan Nash and Allison Markle. He looked worried, like if they didn't participate, they'd get tossed to the curb. "We said we'd pull our weight."

  "Jonathan's in no condition to be out there," Harry said.

  They all turned and looked toward the back of the bus where the man lay shivering on the last seat. Another series of muffled coughs rose up from beneath the pile of old coats.

  "Medicine, too," Jonah quietly added to their list. "Antibiotics, if possible."

  "We'll use them," Nami said, "but I don't know about Jon. Before the Flense he was one of those homeopathic types, never believed in modern medicines. Was always into herbs and natural healing. He told me he lied on his job application, otherwise they never would have let him work."

  Jonah scowled. "Time for him to change his tune. If he's contagious, he puts us all at risk. And that baby sounds like he's getting worse, too, so whatever we can find will go toward helping us all."

  "You still didn't answer my question," Nami said. "What can Allison and I do?"

  Jonah turned to Harry. "You stay here with your family and the rest of the group. Nami'll take your place. Keep an eye out for movement. If you see anything, take the bus and leave. Just go."

  "And leave you behind?"

  "If we hear the bus going, we'll know something's up and we'll hunker down until things clear enough for you to return. Assuming it's Wraiths—"

  "What else would it be?"

  "Assuming it's Wraiths," Jonah repeated without answering, "you'll draw them out of town. Hopefully." He pointed to the hatch in the roof of the bus. "If for some reason you can't leave, climb up on top. Shout to let us know you're in trouble. This town is small enoug
h that we should hear you."

  He turned to Kari and Nami. "Make sure to stay together. Watch each other's back. Return before it starts getting dark."

  Danny hesitated shutting off the bus, then twisted the key. The engine chugged and coughed, then wheezed into silence. Not a one of them didn't utter a silent prayer that it would start up again the next time they needed it.

  A few minutes passed, then Jonah gestured to Danny and they stepped off. Each of them gripped a heavy metal pipe in their hands.

  Harry watched them go, then turned to Kari. "As much as I thought the boy's father was an arrogant jerk, and even disliked Jonah himself for acting the same way, I have to admit he has some redeeming qualities."

  Kari reluctantly nodded. "He's decisive, assertive, capable. I just worry about the choices he makes. That was Jack Resnick's biggest failing— he was reckless when he got emotional. And stubborn."

  She plucked a couple sturdy weapons from the stack on the seat by the door and handed one to Nami, who handed over his pistol to Harry.

  "Whatever you do," Nami said, "fire that only as a last resort. It seems to trigger the change in them." Then he and Kari followed Jonah and Danny into the town.

  Harry nervously fingered the cold metal on the barrel of the gun, feeling the places where rust had begun to etch away at it. Nothing infuriated a Wraith more than the deafening blast of a gunshot. Nothing made them attack with greater violence.

  He prayed he wouldn't have to use it.

  * * *

  Danny would much rather have been anywhere other than where he was, standing on the porch outside the door of an abandoned house. He felt like bolting back to the bus and, indeed, his gaze did flick up the road to where it was parked. Fifty yards, he estimated. He could cover it in about ten or fifteen seconds.

  "Hey!" Jonah hissed. "You with me?"

  Danny's attention snapped back. "Yeah."

  Jonah raised his pipe and nudged Danny back as he tried the knob. It was locked. Nevertheless, the door yielded when he pushed on it. He gave it a good shove and it popped open. The splintering on the jamb around the deadbolt was proof enough that someone had smashed through it before.