Born to Fight (Born #2)

Born to Fight (Born #2) Page 4

Then I heard a bang followed by another. Then nothing.

"Holy shit. He shot him, Bri. He shot him in the head. We need to get out of here now."

"Turn around, man. Go that way. Up the hill." Brian sounded scared, which made me scared.

"It's the wrong way."

"Who fucking cares. DRIVE!"

The jeep sped up and I felt a huge bump. Then my stomach felt like it was rolling around inside of me. I lost my grip on the seat and was flung up. The thick book hit me in the face. My seatbelt caught me and I saw colors behind my eyes, as I was thrown back onto the seat. It didn't feel comfortable anymore. It felt hard and scraped my skin.

We turned over and over and loud bangs filled up all the air there was.

I heard them screaming and then it stopped. Then it was just me screaming. We stopped moving, but my lips stayed open and my cries were everywhere.

I heaved slightly and looked around. I was upside-down and hanging by my seatbelt. I clicked it, but I didn't fall. The top of the jeep was closer than it was before. I could see blood. Some of it was mine and some of it came from the front seat. Brian was gone. The windows were gone. I heard a groan.

"Em," Dad groaned.

I reached frantically, "Dad. Dad. I can't see you." His headrest was up and the jeep was bent and crumpled around him. I slithered out the back of it and dragged myself onto the dry, brown grass. There were other cars surrounding us and in no better shape than the jeep. In the distance, I could see other people, but not many. I could see them noticing the accident and pointing.

"Em, the others will want our stuff. Run," he whispered harshly and coughed.

I dragged myself to his window, which was gone. His body was stuck, pinned by the jeep. I pulled on the door handle, but it didn't budge. I cried and scratched and slapped at the jeep. I kicked at the door, but it wouldn't move. I was too small and too skinny and I couldn't even dent the metal. All my anger, pain, and fear wouldn't even scratch at the cold, hard door.

He looked bad. His body was upside down, but not hanging. The jeep was all around him, snug.

He moaned again, "Em. Run. You can run fast and far, don’t let yourself give up. Take this and run. "

He held nothing out for me to take, but his hand was bent funny. I sat on the grass beside him and cried. I could feel the defeat.

He licked his lips and looked at me with the most frightening eyes I'd ever seen. "Run, Em. Run and get to the cabin. Go up that mountain to the right of us. Climb up until you come to a dirt road. Follow it until you come to an old farmhouse. From there, it's across their hayfield and up the mountain behind their house. To the right." He slipped his bent hand out and grabbed mine. I could feel his fingers click when he bent them. "It's us and them, Em. I'm still with you. You can feel it, you'll always feel it. But right now, I need you to be a brave girl—the brave girl I trained for exactly this moment. Run and don’t help anyone. Don’t ask for help. It's everyone for themselves now. They're all sick, Em. In some way, they're all sick."

Blood dripped into his hair from a cut above his eye. I shook my head and cried. I heard a truck behind me.

He screamed at me, "RUN, EM! THEY'RE COMING! NEVER GET CAUGHT, EM! NEVER!"

I backed away on the grass and stood on my bruised and battered legs. They almost buckled in fear, but I did as he said. I swallowed my sobs and turned and ran. I ran across the freeway and up the hill into the grass. Feet made noises behind me, but I had always been fast, even as a little girl.

I heard the vehicle and the gunshot. I heard the others. I knew they'd shot him, if he lived that long.

I ran and ran until I threw up in the grass, and even then, I ran. I ran until my eyes saw things that could not be and heard people I knew to be dead. People like my father. I felt him pulling me up the hill and yelling at me to hurry up. I felt his breath on my face, as he shouted and squeezed my hand.

I ran until I saw the farmhouse. Then I crept and snuck and hid in the shadows of the dark. Then I sat alone in those shadows, too terrified to cry. Too terrified to move. But I knew food and water would be waiting at the cabin. All the food and water, I could manage to get inside me. Hunger gnawed at my spine. I stumbled across the field in the dark. I got to the other side and climbed one of the trees there. Its rough bark reminded me, I was alive. Just as he always said it would, pain reminded me I was still alive.

The flashes stop, and the memory fades, and I am alone in the dark room with the smiling statue of Jesus. And again the pain reminds me I am still alive, just like it did then in the big tree at the edge of the field.

Chapter Three

When I wake, the pain is gone, but I've peed myself. The pee is everywhere. My pants are sticky and wet. It smells rusty like blood, but I recall peeing. I recall the pain and the pressure and how good it felt to let go of the pee. I am becoming one of the infected. It's what he put into my arm. I know it. I've peed and cramped. Soon I will wander about and crave flesh…or just die and be eaten by the other infected.

Where is Anna? Has she come for me? Is she captured? I need to be stronger to save her, unless she was truly a hallucination.

The room is so dark that I can't see Jesus, but I assume he is still here. I wonder if he is grossed out that I've peed on the floor and am so weak I cannot move out of my own filth. I wish he wasn’t a stone statue, but rather a mannequin. I need new clothes. The image of being infected and wondering the world in robes that I stole from a Jesus mannequin, makes me smile.

I grab one of the bags of glucose and pull the plug from the bottom of it. I drink the sweet water until I feel sick, and even then, I force a little more down. I drain the bag and drop it to the floor, where I then lower my face and arms. The cold of the floor is comforting somehow.

My eyes flicker like the lights in the hall and I know I'm passing out again.

I don't dream this time. I don’t remember anything else about before. I just sleep and then wake up.

When I wake again, I lick my lips. They feel chapped and cracked. The pee is dried and when I move my legs, they feel stuck in the pants. I am weak. Very weak. My breath feels like effort. My heart doesn’t feel like it's beating at all.

"Find the door and find Anna," I whisper to myself, and maybe Jesus. He's like Leo. He makes me less crazy, because with him there, I'm not talking to myself.

I push myself to my knees and crawl to where I think the door is. I feel along the wall for the gap where the handle will be. The edge of the door evades me. Did the room seal while I slept? I look around in the darkness for Jesus. From what Granny said, he is supposed to be my light in the dark, but even my animal eyes don’t work in this place. There is no light in this room.

The wall feels like it is never-ending. I feel like I will travel this wall in a circle, until I go mad and claw my way through it. I wonder if I am in hell. I am being punished for the sins I have committed. I'm not really sorry for any of them. That might be a problem.

I turn and feel for the statue of Jesus. Nothing feels like it will happen fast enough. The air in the room feels like its oxygen supply has been sucked dry. All that’s left is the pollution I have made with every panicked exhale. My heartbeat feels like it's been started with a shock, and it's now making an attempt to rip itself from my chest.

It's a panic attack. I recognize it as my fingers touch the cold statue. My fingers meet the cold of his robes and I fall at his feet in a heap. I am like his followers. The ones I've seen who save the children crying alone on the road. The ones who seem kind and gentle, but somehow their eyes make you feel not good enough.

"Help me," I whisper, gripping to his cold robes.

I hear something and lift my head.

At first I think it's Jesus whispering, making me shiver. I am about to become devout for the remaining seconds of my life, when I realize the wind is coming from the door. I crawl away from Jesus, feeling along the floor for the bottom of the door where the air is coming in. It's clean and fresh. Something has changed in the hallway outside. Anna?

I feel the slight cool whisper of air, as my hands reach the base of the door.

I run my hands up it to the handle and hang on for dear life. I turn the lock on the door, just as the handle turns. It gets stuck on the lock.

A voice follows the movement of the handle, "Clear here too." The vibration of the movement jolts through me. "She went up the stairs. Everything else is locked."

I almost leap back screaming. But I force myself to be calm. I hold my fingers on the door and wait. They are checking the hall and looking for me. They know I am gone. I am not alone. The doctor wasn’t alone. Where were they when I was killing him? Are they looking for Anna?

Another voice fills the silent air of the hallway, "God dammed, do you know how important she was? For Christ's sake. It's one little girl."

Little girl? Are they talking about me? Am I still a little girl or is it Anna they've lost? My heart is already panicked from the arrival of the men, this doesn’t help it calm down.

I try to think, but my stomach is hurting too much. I don't know what to do. If I go looking for them, I might lead the men to where they are. I'm sick and, most likely dying, so it isn’t like I'll be much help.

I pause my thoughts when I hear footsteps again, "Get her back or it's your lives."

"What about the wolf?" a man asks.

Leo. I almost say his name aloud.

He's alive. He's near. Fire burns in my belly, but I refuse it. I need to find him. I need him.

The voices walk away from me, growing quieter, "She's sick. She doesn’t know where he is. Don't worry about him…find her."

I lose them after that. The hallway is silent again and the wind is gone from under the door.

I pull another bag from my pocket and pull the plug. I drink it down. It tastes sweet and stale and funny but I know I'm dehydrated and sick. The poison he shot into me made me sick but didn’t kill me. I need to replace my fluids.

I close my eyes and press my face against the door. I listen for the sounds of boots and guns. I listen for breath that gets ragged, when you're searching for someone. There is nothing. The men's voices are gone. The men who rattled the door and tried the lock, are gone. It's almost like they were a figment of my imagination, like Anna.