The Redemption Trilogy Read online

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Jed got to his feet and jogged around the van. He snapped up his rifle from where it had landed after the monster threw it in the street. It was banged up a little; one corner of the ejector cover was bent and the stock had a crack in it. Jed slapped a fresh magazine in and charged the weapon. It seemed to work fine, but Jed kept throwing nervous glances at the rifle as he ran to catch up to Rainey.

  “Hey, I heard the Corps was clearing the city, mopping up the monsters.”

  “Who told you that?” Rainey asked. He kept scanning their route, with his rifle up and ready. Jed followed suit before he replied.

  “Some dickhead NCO back at the fields. That’s where the Civil Affairs guys were set up. My old school, man.”

  Rainey didn’t reply. Jed was happy to have someone with him, but Rainey seemed like he’d rather keep quiet than talk about shit. Jed just kept his eyes on the street and rooftops as they moved.

  They rounded corners and went down streets, all the while watching the rooftops and alleys between houses for any sign of the monsters. They went under Roosevelt Avenue and came into a neighborhood with more high rises and apartments. Jed noticed fewer and fewer curtains being moved aside, and more and more front doors and ground-floor windows smashed in.

  And more blood and bodies lying on front walks and near cars still parked on the street, like people got taken out right as they were about to get away.

  “They’re getting inside,” he said. “Getting everybody, man.”

  “Yep,” was Rainey’s short reply. He kept his weapon shouldered and scanned as they moved. Left to right, up and down.

  After a few blocks of stalking like that, Rainey put a hand up to hold position. Jed drew up against the nearest wall. They were next to a library on a corner, with a little park across the street in one direction, and a public school across the other street. Jed looked into the trees, thinking they should be over there instead of out on the damn street. They didn’t have any cover here, and Jed felt like a sitting goddamned duck in the open.

  He started to say they should get hid somewhere, but Rainey swatted a hand backward in the air while he scanned the street ahead.

  Jed still didn’t know Rainey’s rank. The guy acted like he knew his shit, and Jed didn’t really mind taking orders from him either. It was just weird not knowing if the guy telling you to shut your hole was an NCO or a private.

  “My platoon should be up ahead, Welch. Rally point was the park on the other side of that school. See it?”

  Jed grunted to say he did. He knew the school. They were across from PS11.

  Memo got jumped by some kids when he went here.

  It was quiet and dark around the schoolyard. The closer Jed looked, the more he recognized the same signs of entry and damage as he had in the other buildings around them. He looked at the high-rise building to the left of the school, and his breath caught in his throat.

  “The—They ain’t still there,” he said, pointing at the high rise. The windows were all smashed out on the upper floors, and streaks of what had to be blood dripped down the side of the building from where people had either jumped through the glass or been thrown through it.

  Rainey shook his head, and Jed didn’t miss his voice cracking a bit when he said, “Damn. Oh, damn.”

  “Hey,” someone shouted from the cluster of trees to their right. Jed and Rainey looked together, bringing their weapons up.

  “Hold your fire,” the unseen speaker said. A second later a Marine came out from the trees with his own weapon up and at the ready. Rainey lowered his weapon a bit, but kept both hands on it. Jed did the same and waited for the other Marine to identify himself. Rainey handled the introductions for him.

  “That you, Sergeant Townsend?”

  “Yeah. Now c’mon, get over here.”

  Rainey moved out, giving Jed a half glance and nodding his head for him to follow. They crossed the street quickly and got under the trees with the NCO.

  Sergeant Townsend was about Jed’s height, just under six feet. He was black and the look in his eyes told Jed he was a man you trusted. Something in how he held his head up and looked right at you. He didn’t seem to judge Jed for anything, and for a moment Jed forgot that he’d been trying to get away from the military and forget all about ever being a Marine.

  “Who’re you, son?” Sergeant Townsend asked.

  “Private Welch, Sergeant. I was with the Civil Affairs guys, but I used to be in the Corps. Got out and—”

  “All right,” Sergeant Townsend said, putting up a hand. “All right. Don’t need your life story right now. ‘Used to be’ is as good as you are, am I right, Marine?”

  Jed paused only a second before nodding and saying “Rah.”

  The NCO chuckled, but it was a laugh like you’d give a homie. Jed couldn’t keep the smile off his face, so he turned his head left and right, looking at where they’d ended up and what was around them now.

  “Where’s the rest of ’em, Sergeant?” Rainey asked.

  “Platoon got tore up. Me and Sergeant Baxter’s squad is all that’s left. They already moved out. I stayed back in case any of y’all came through.”

  “Shit,” Rainey said. “Kehoe and Campbell gone?”

  Sergeant Townsend just nodded. Rainey said something under his breath, and Jed heard that little catch in his voice again, like he was about ready to curl up and start crying for his baby bottle.

  “C’mon now,” Sergeant Townsend said. “They gone so we can stay alive to remember ’em. And I’m all outta straws, Marine.”

  Rainey recovered a bit at that. Jed stayed quiet for a beat before he asked, “What’s the plan, Sergeant? Seems quiet now.”

  And it was. The shrieking, if they heard any at all, was really far off, and they hadn’t heard any gunfire since before Roosevelt Avenue.

  “Shit’s too quiet,” Sergeant Townsend said. “Got no radio contact, so we’re looking at a hump down to the East River and over Queensbridge. Should be a checkpoint this end. Headquarters Company set it up before they sent us out into this motherfucker. You seen combat, Welch?” he asked at the end, looking more closely at Jed’s uniform and weapon.

  “Yeah—Yes, Sergeant. I was in Iraq.”

  Sergeant Townsend didn’t seem to question Jed’s words. Or, if he did, he didn’t make any noise about it.

  “C’mon,” the NCO said, leaving the cover of the trees and scanning the street in front of PS11. Jed and Rainey followed him out.

  “We gotta move,” Sergeant Townsend said, stepping off down the sidewalk. “Checkpoint’s closing down at sunset.”

  “What’s happening then?” Jed asked. He and Rainey had to jog to keep up with the NCO.

  Sergeant Townsend picked up the pace a bit, and answered between breaths. “They pulling back to Manhattan,” he said. “And blowing the bridges.”

  — 17 —

  Upper East Side, Manhattan

  With the two new firefighters, a man and a woman, safely inside, Rex helped Meg ratchet the shutters closed. Every creak and groan of the metal door was like an explosion in Meg’s ears. The firefighters they’d just welcomed told them to close the door as quietly as possible.

  “They’re attracted to noise. Or sounds of any kind, really,” the woman had said the instant she was inside. Her partner took the mask off while she introduced them. Her name was Rachel Beal. She was a few inches over Meg’s 5’ 8” frame and from her high, broad shoulders, Meg figured the woman was an athlete. Her dark skin and feline features made Meg think of her cat, Biggins.

  She let the memory go and shook Rachel’s hand.

  Rachel’s partner was almost a carbon copy of Rex, except his name was Jason Weekes and his hair was blond instead of red.

  “Jason, Rachel,” Meg said. “Welcome to our little corner of hell.”

  They both nodded their thanks before Jason filled everyone in on the situation outside.

  “The Army and Marines are pulling back to Manhattan.
They’re supposed to blow the bridges—”

  “What?” Rex shouted. “They can’t do that. My folks are down in Brooklyn.”

  “If your families… If any of your families are in the city, they’re probably safe. The military’s been really good about evacuating affected areas.”

  Meg wondered if Jason’s definition of really good matched hers. How many husbands and neighbors did the military think it was okay to lose before they downgraded really good to not so hot? Or just plain shitty?

  “You’ve seen this?” Meg asked, feeling the burn of anger and frustration finally boiling over. “The evacuations, I mean. Because I have. I was evacuated from my home. They had to kill my husband first, though. He’d become infected and killed a cop, and our neighbor and his wife. He would have killed me next if they hadn’t shot him.”

  Neither Jason nor Rachel had anything to say. They, and everyone else, just stared back at Meg as she felt the hot tears flowing down her cheeks. Finally, Abeer stepped forward from the group.

  “I am sorry for your husband,” Abeer said. “My husband’s name was Abdallah. The soldiers had to shoot him. I miss him.”

  Meg nodded and wiped her tears. “Thank you, Abeer.”

  “I don’t mean to ignore anyone’s suffering,” Rachel said. “But we have to secure this place. The front door is wide open, and those lockers aren’t going to hold them for more than a minute at best. I’ve seen them fight and move. They can climb—”

  “I know!” Meg shouted and then put a hand over her mouth, remembering the monsters were attracted to sounds. She pulled in a sob, dropped her hand, and bowed her head. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Distant gunfire echoed through the city outside. It sounded like a popcorn maker out of control at first, but Meg quickly realized what it was.

  “That’s the Army,” one of the survivors said. “It has to be. They’ll save us.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Jason said. “They’re doing well, like I said. A lot of the city is already evaced to Manhattan, and they have checkpoints at the bridges.”

  “So what’s the problem?” Rex asked.

  Jason stared at him for a beat before replying. “I’ve seen them go right through a whole platoon of armed soldiers. I’m talking machine guns, rocket launchers. And still the monsters won. It isn’t pretty.”

  That seemed to shake everyone up, and the room fell silent. Meg looked to Eric, who stayed at his post facing the door to the chief’s office with the hose around his waist.

  “Eric, how many masks do we have?”

  Before Eric could reply, Rex answered her. “About a dozen, counting the one they brought in.”

  “We should keep at least one down here for whoever is on guard. The rest, put them on the children first. Then the parents. After that go by age, starting with the youngest.”

  Rex looked ready to protest Meg’s order, but the other firefighters in the room all nodded their approval. Rex stood on shaky legs and waved for the survivors to follow him to the back of the bay. The older black woman led the way staying right behind Rex. She was followed by Abeer and her baby, then the mother and her daughter in pigtails right behind her. The others trailed behind in a staggering line.

  Meg kept her voice low and asked Jason and Rachel, “Is it really that bad out there? What’s really going on? You haven’t told us the whole story.”

  Jason shook his head. “No, we haven’t. We don’t really know. I said that about the military doing well because I could see those people needed some good news. But the truth is—”

  “We’re fucked,” Rachel said, barely keeping her voice down. Some of the survivors looked their way and Meg let her face tell Rachel to cool it. The other woman seemed to get it. Rachel moved closer to the shutters and motioned for Meg and Jason to join her in looking out the windows. When they were all gathered at the far end of the floor, away from the survivors, Rachel continued, keeping her voice down this time.

  “There is no coming back from this. Whatever it is, there is no cure, no treatment. Nothing. If you get attacked, you’re dead. And if you’re not dead, it doesn’t matter because you’re not human anymore either.”

  Rachel’s words rattled Meg, and hard. She had to suck in a breath at the thought of what they were facing. The empty New York City street outside didn’t help her mood, either. The street should have been filled with bumper-to-bumper traffic, and people all over the sidewalks.

  Meg should be looking for bicycle messengers whipping down the street between cars, and holding her breath every time a taxi or truck or van merged without checking for the cyclist. She’d seen it happen so many times, and almost every time the messenger pulled a fast dodge to avoid being crushed or run down. But Meg couldn’t forget the times when it hadn’t gone as well and she’d had to rush into the street to try and save a young person’s life.

  “Look,” Rachel said, cutting in on Meg’s thoughts. “They’re still pretty thin around here. The outbreak started by JFK and moved through Queens and Brooklyn like a hurricane. The Army and Marines have mostly held them from spreading across the river.”

  “But we’ve already seen them here,” Meg said.

  “I know. I said ‘mostly’. But even if they clean out the ones that are here, they won’t be able to guarantee anything come nightfall. There’s a hardware store just up the street. It’s been looted already, but there’s plenty of lumber in the yard beside the store. I’m sure they have at least one hammer left and some nails. We need to barricade this place, and fast.”

  “Won’t that make noise?” Eric asked. He must have come closer while Meg was busying herself with memories. She nodded at him and Eric let his attention settle on her and the others for a moment. Then he went back to watching the doorway.

  “Everything makes noise,” Rachel said. “But, yeah, you’re right. We’ll have to work fast, and the sooner we start, the better we’ll be. I saw some of those monsters get caught in the sun when the clouds parted. They ran for the shadows. I think they’re sensitive to sunlight. We don’t have much of that left.”

  Meg looked at the house clock on the wall above an old Yankees team photo. The clock read nearly half past two.

  “Eric,” she said. “Can you hold the fort?”

  “Don’t worry,” Jason said. “We’ll get the wood. You guys make sure we can get back inside. But first, let’s move that locker into the office to block the door.”

  Meg almost had to smile at him. As big as Rex, and with the same look in his eye that said he saw her as a woman first and firefighter second. But he had good ideas, and wasn’t afraid of a little work.

  With Rachel’s help, they got the locker repositioned by lifting up each end and setting it down on a fire blanket. Then they pulled the blankets to shift the bulky metal case around without making as much noise as they had the first time Meg and Rex had moved it. When they had the front door mostly blocked with the locker, Jason and Rachel each put on a mask. Meg asked them to get more from the engine if it seemed clear.

  “If you think it’s safe to try,” she said, already feeling guilty for sending them out on their own.

  Meg and Eric opened the shutter door enough for Jason and Rachel to slip under it, then closed it again fast. Then they waited. Eric hoisted the hose again and paced between the doorway to the chief’s office and the front of the floor by the shutters. Meg looked at Rex and the survivors at the back of the floor and thought about how many lives she had already failed to save that day.

  — 18 —

  Long Island City, Queens

  Jed tried his best not to just fall the fuck out as they ran, but his breath came shorter and shorter.

  “Sergeant Townsend,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  The NCO was short on breath. They’d been running at a good pace down Skillman Avenue, passing empty row houses, storefronts, industrial buildings. Cars on the sidewalk sat there like nobody was coming back for them. An alarm beeped and whined from a block or so over.
Somewhere a car door slammed shut and an engine turned over. But there was nobody around on the street. No shouting, no laughter. It was the only time in his life Jed had actually heard New York City without hearing the people in it.

  “Yo, Welch. You got something?”

  “Rail yards, Sergeant. Comin’ up. Cross on… Honeywell.”

  “I know, Welch. Eyes out. Keep quiet.”

  Jed ignored the burn in his cheeks. He’d told Townsend about Honeywell because he knew the streets around here and figured he would help. Save them some time. They could cross on 39th or even at 43rd. Hell, they were about there now anyway. But those streets would take them up and away from the river.

  Deeper into the neighborhoods. More places for them to hide. More places for me to die.

  So far they’d only seen one of the things, and Rainey bagged it with a head shot from across the street. They’d had a clear run since then, but Jed could still hear gunfire not too far off, and mixed in with the sounds of big engines moving fast. If they could find a ride.

  “We should boost the next car.”

  “You fuckin’ crazy, Welch?” Rainey said.

  Jed was about done taking shit and felt like it was time to dish a little back. Sergeant Townsend stopped him, though. “Y’all shut it down.”

  Jed nodded and went back to watching the rooftops as they ran. He wanted to give Rainey a look, but Sergeant Townsend was between them, and the tone of his voice just then told Jed not to fuck around even a little bit.

  They ran on and Jed kept watch on the neighborhood. They passed some high-rise apartments, and none of these had broken windows. A few storefronts did, and one or two of the row houses looked like they’d been raided. It wasn’t too much farther to Honeywell, and then they’d just have to get out to the checkpoint at Queensbridge.

  Ain’t that far. I can do it. C’mon Jed, don’t be a punk.