Inhuman

9

I couldn’t place what was wrong with the scream. The note. The pitch. Something was off. The person screamed again, which dragged me into consciousness. He didn’t sound scared…. I rolled onto my back, listening to the drawn out howl.

“It’s Bangor,” said a voice so close I flinched.

Sitting up, I searched the darkness. As my eyes adjusted, my memories came flooding back. I was still in the supply-room closet. Twisting, I found Everson seated behind me. My gaze narrowed on his lap. “Did I —”

“I’m sorry about the Lull. I didn’t mean —”

“How long was I out?”

Everson rose, avoiding my gaze. “A couple of hours. I’m not sure. I fell asleep too. Look, I didn’t —” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

A couple of hours — that was all? The muddy flow of my thoughts felt like the result of a weeklong coma.

A gunshot rang out, startling us both, followed by another scream — agonized this time. Everson dropped his face into his palm. When boots sprinted into the supply room beyond the door, I rose on usteady legs.

The chair wedged under the knob was flung aside with a crash and the closet door opened.

The infected guard, Bangor, stood before us, wavering on his feet, though his yellow-eyed gaze seemed sharp enough as it settled on me. When he lunged, Everson shoved me back and grabbed Bangor by the shoulders, holding him at arm’s length.

Where were the other guards?

I had to help Everson. I snagged the tranq gun from his thigh holster. Who knew if the safety was on or if the thing was even loaded? Still, I aimed it at the yellow-eyed guard.

“Lane, don’t” Everson said.

What? I stepped aside to see his face, but his gaze was locked onto Bangor.

“Help me, Ev.” The man clutched at Everson’s shirt. “Don’t let them put me out there. I’m okay. The fever’s broken. I’m going to be okay. Tell Dr. Solis he can try anything on me. Just let me stay here.”

The guards arrived then, and Bangor bellowed as they dragged him backward out of the closet doorway. A guard knocked Bangor’s hands off of Everson so that the others could force him to the floor. Everson took the tranq gun from me, reholstered it, and stepped out of the closet. I stayed as far back as possible and pulled on my cap.

“You shot him?” Everson stared down at the scuffling men.

I followed his gaze and found the hole in the thigh of Bangor’s pants, the growing aura of blood around it.

“What were we supposed to do? He ran.” The tremor in the guard’s voice matched the one in my stomach. His gaze flicked to me and then back to Everson. “What are you two doing in there?”

“We were locked in.” Everson pointed at the chair Bangor had flung aside. “Rafe.”

Another guard shot to his feet and looked around the supply room. “Is he still here?”

“Long gone.”

“I hate that guy,” the guard muttered, rubbing his side as if he’d just taken a punch.

Bangor wept as the guards set to work binding his wrists and ankles with leather straps. I edged into the doorway of the closet. No one seemed to be paying me any attention at this point. Not with a crying, bleeding man on the floor. “Where are they taking him?”

Something dark flickered in Everson’s expression. “He’s infected. He can’t stay in camp — patrol rule.”

Once Bangor was trussed, a guard put on latex gloves and gingerly wrapped a hospital gown around Bangor’s thigh. He began to struggle, trying to get away, but there were too many of them. “I’m okay now. I’m not going to infect anyone. Just leave me here and let the doctor study me.”

Without a word, the guards hefted him up and carried him from the room.

Everson went back into the supply closet and threw some things in a cloth drawstring bag. Then he took off after the guards, skirting the puddled blood on the floor. I snatched up my dad’s messenger bag and followed. If they were going to force Bangor into the Feral Zone, they’d have to open the gate. This could be my chance to cross the bridge. But did I really want to?

I caught up with Everson at the infirmary’s entrance where he stood, blocking the guards from going through the doors. “At least let the doctor take the bullet out of his leg,” he said to them.

“Listen to him, guys, please. Just take me to Dr. Solis. And I’ve got to call my wife. You know she’s pregnant. Let me call her. I’ve got to call her!”

The glass door opened behind Everson. “Move aside, Cruz.”

Everson glanced over his shoulder, took in the balding, middle-aged man, and stepped out of the way. From the insignia on his jacket, I guessed that he was an officer or something.

The guards carrying Bangor pushed past Everson, who followed right behind.

“Captain Hyrax, sir, if he’s going to have a chance of surviving in the zone, he can’t go in with an open wound.”

“I hear Solis is whiffed out,” the captain said, sounding disdainful. “Two guards tried to wake him. I’m not keeping an infected man around while we wait for the good doctor to rejoin the conscious.” Under the floodlights, the captain’s face seemed abnormally pale. Only his eyes burned dark.

“Then let me take the bullet out,” Everson offered. “You know I can.”

“So you get your hands wet with infected blood?” he snapped. “That’s sure to go over with corporate.” With a jerk of his chin, he ordered the guards to take off with Bangor.

“At least let me give him some supplies. Hold up!” Everson hurried after the guards, the white cloth sack in hand. I ran after him, hoping the captain didn’t notice me. Was I supposed to salute or something?

“There are some bandages in here and some hydrogen peroxide,” Everson said, bending to look into Bangor’s yellow eyes. “If the bullet is close to the surface, try to pull it out with the surgical tweezers I put in there. Get to the quarantine compound in Moline if you can. You know where it is?”

Bangor turned his head away, and Everson tucked the bag down his shirt.

Captain Hyrax watched this coldly. “Cruz, if you want to protect the population, you gotta stop seeing the people. There’s a greater good at stake here.”

I couldn’t believe that they were going to force a sick, wounded man into the Feral Zone. Everson followed them, his fists clenched, while I trailed behind like a zombie until they reached the bridge. There was no one on the other side of the gate now, and as far as I could tell, the bridge was empty. I could barely make out its eerie silhouette through the cold morning fog.

As the huge gate rolled open, the captain stepped in front of Bangor, who had begun to sob. “Please let me talk to my wife. Our baby is due next month. I need to tell her —”

“I’m sorry about this, son,” the captain said. “Truly, I am. But you’ll have to find another way to live now. I’ll see that your compensation check gets to your wife.”

He moved aside and nodded to the guards, who then cut Bangor’s bindings and heaved him through the open gate. I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming at them. I’d never seen anything so deliberately cruel in my life.

Bangor hit the bridge hard and lay there, moaning. Here was my chance, and yet I didn’t move. I couldn’t just step over Bangor, who looked like he’d gone crazy again, rolling side to side and howling his despair to the sky. The sound made me want to claw out my ears. Then without warning, Bangor shot to his feet and threw himself at the diminishing gap in the mechanized gate, but as hard as he yanked, he couldn’t stop it from clanging shut. Skin glistening, he leapt onto the gate. He had a bullet in his thigh, his pants were soaked with blood, and yet he started climbing the fence effortlessly.

“Get down, Bangor,” Captain Hyrax yelled, pushing back his jacket to draw a gun from his shoulder holster.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and my fingers brushed the Lull inhaler that Everson had tucked there the night before. Great. If things got any uglier, I could always knock myself out.

“Let me tranq him, Captain,” Everson said, lifting the dart gun. “He’ll wake up calmer. Maybe then he can handle this.”

“Get back, Cruz,” the captain snapped. “Last warning!” he shouted to Bangor and took aim. But Bangor didn’t see the gun. His yellow gaze was fixed on the top of the gate. He reached the jutting metal blades strung with barbed wire and, as if he were immune to pain, he gripped the wire and swung away from the gate, trying to get enough momentum to flip over the angled blades.

“No!” Everson yelled at the same instant a shot rang out.

Bangor hung from the wire for a second as red bloomed across his shirt, and then his fingers uncurled, and he dropped onto the bridge with a thud and lay without movement.

The guards who had been carrying him went to the gate and peered out at Bangor’s prone form.

“He’s dead?” Captain Hyrax asked as he jammed his gun back into the holster.

“He looks dead, sir,” a guard called back.

“Open the gate,” the captain ordered. “Get his body.” He looked over at Everson. “When they’re coming at you, you kill them. Period.”

Going by Everson’s clenched hands, he wasn’t on board with the coming-at-you-kill tactic. “I will never kill a man in cold blood,” he said under his breath. “Never.”

The gate rolled aside once more, and an icy feeling washed over me. It was as if they were collecting my father’s body after his execution. The guards spilled onto the bridge and surrounded the lifeless man.

“Take it to the incinerator,” the captain told them. “Burn it and send the ashes to his family.”

Fate was offering me one last chance. I started toward the open gate but a hand clamped onto my arm. “Don’t even think about it,” Everson hissed in my ear. “You want to end up infected?”

I struggled in his grip as he dragged me back. No one paid attention to us. The surrounding guards were watching the men carry Bangor’s body through the gate. I tried to dig in my heels but Everson was like the outgoing tide, an impassive force dragging me off. Fighting him wouldn’t get me free — not even if I struck one of his five vulnerable areas. He was too big and too well trained. But I had another way to stop him. I pulled the inhaler from my pocket and squeezed a wet cloud of Lull into his face. Everson reeled back, releasing me as he gagged.

“I’m sorry.” I lifted the strap of the messenger bag over my head so that it crossed my body.

He blinked at me, uncomprehending, and then crumpled to the ground. I paused over him. He looked so much younger asleep — spiky lashes against flushed cheeks. Sweeter, too, with the crease between his brows smoothed out. I wanted to look longer, linger even, but the creak of the gate snapped up my gaze. I sprinted for the narrow opening, barreling past the guards carrying Bangor’s body.

Someone yelled, “Whataya doing?” as I squeezed through just before the gate clanged into place. I skipped over the smear of blood and dashed across the bridge.

“Who is that?” the captain demanded.

I reached the fog bank at the far end and glanced back to see several guards clutching the chain link. “You’ll die over there!” one called.

I really hoped not. I turned and stepped into the fog. All that waited for me in the West was loneliness and the possibility of seeing my father executed. Given that, I’d rather take my chances in the Feral Zone.