“You’re right, I did. Drop me at the police.”
“They won’t do anything; they’ll lock you up as a drunk or psycho.”
“Damn it, you’re not giving me any options here.”
“You want options? You’re not ordering dinner, you made them, you stop them.”
He ground his teeth. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“By going to the police?”
“What else do you want me to do?”
She jerked the wheel pulling to the side of the road. “Tell me about them. What did you do to cause this?”
She saw annoyance and frustration flash across his face. He reached for the door handle. “Screw it.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
He looked back at her. “Really?”
“Yeah, so let me help you.”
He was silent for a moment, not sure why he didn’t just open the door and get out. But a part of him knew she was right. The police wouldn’t believe him and there was no one else to turn to. The project had been so classified that aside from Sharpe and Kline no one knew about it. He was alone, and this strange woman was his only option. He relented enough to remove his hand from the door.
“We can’t just idle here, I could use some coffee.”
“Alright.” She said. “I know of an all-night diner. You can tell me over coffee.”
Chapter Three
The mug was hot against his palms as he sat across the table from her. The heat seeped into his palms but didn’t go any further or chase away the chill guilt and dread had put in him.
“You have your coffee, talk.”
He nodded once as if to order his thoughts then began to speak. “It was essentially NANO technology, but I based the program on the hive mentality of bees. The goal was to achieve motor control of a subject. Originally my plan was for them to be used to help paralysis victims. By introducing them to a subject’s nervous system they would effectively bridge the gap between the brain’s impulses and the damaged nerves.”
“Did it work?”
His eyes lifted to hers from where they had been studying his hands. “Yeah, too well…Colonel Sharpe approached my research partner and me shortly after our first success.”
“And you jumped at the chance to aid your country?”
His eyes darkened, “No, but Kline was given lead, it became his project.”
“So you had no choice, right?” She sneered.
Temper spiked, at her, at himself. “I had a choice and I made the wrong one. I stayed.”
“What happened then?”
“Kline modified the program, instead of taking over simple motor functions, the goal was total control. A potential end of global hostilities. No more war.”
“So a little robot gets turned on and the world falls in line?”
“Yeah.”
“So you justified it? Told yourself how it would save lives so it didn’t matter if you took away free will.”
He didn’t deny it. “Something like that. When I decided I couldn’t be part of what they wanted I lost control. Sharpe took it over, took my project. I couldn’t stop him from proceeding with live human trials.”
“Didn’t turn out the way you wanted it to did it?”
“No they didn’t do what they were programmed to do. They killed Harris, but he didn’t stay that way. He killed Kline and Sarah, activated the rest of the prototypes.” His shoulder jerked in a frustrated shrug. “I tried to override them, tried to kill them with an imbedded virus, but it didn’t work. Sharpe sent men in to kill Harris and the others. We thought they did, I went in, I was going to fry the rest of the prototypes with an EMP I had built into the holding case.”
“I take it that it didn’t work.”
“It would have, but Harris and the others weren’t dead. They broke the case; let the rest of them out.” He closed his eyes, “Killed the soldiers, killed Sharpe, came after me. I ran, didn’t think, just ran.”
“So that’s how you kill them? With an EMP?”
“Yeah.”
“So where do you get one?”
He shook his head. “I really don’t know.”
“And that’s what you were going to tell the sheriff? That a bunch of – what do you call them?”
“I don’t know….B.U.G.S.”
“Bugs?”
“Yeah, Biomechanical Universal Governing Systems. ‘B.U.G.S.’”
A smile tugged at her mouth. “Cute. So, all we have to do is find something to zap the fuckers.”
“We?” His eyebrow crooked. “I thought you were staying out of it?”
She shrugged. “Woman’s prerogative.”
He smiled, the first time that evening and she liked it. “So we’re partners now?”
She shrugged again. “I guess.”
He reached across the table, offering his hand. “Cameron.”
His hand was warm around hers, surprisingly rough, calloused for a man who spent his days in a lab. “Cheyenne.”
The first smile of the day and they shared it. They also took that moment to size each other up, to really look for the first time.
She was tall, almost as tall as his six feet one inches, leggy and tawny like the tribe she was named after. Her hair was black, shining like a crow’s wing as it fell in a straight waterfall down her back. Her eyes however were light, a strange red gold that made him think of new copper pennies in direct sunlight. She didn’t wear makeup, or what she wore was applied with the subtle skill of a pro. She was long and lean, tawny and gold and he wished he had met her when he hadn’t initiated the end of the known world.
Her lips curved over the words she was about to speak, words that died half formed on her tongue. Alarm streaked into his gut and he turned, reluctantly, to look out the window at the night.
It was too late, that was the only thought he could hang onto as his mind screamed denials. It was too late and they were much too fast.
Kline stood just beyond the glass, eyes vacant and staring, staring at them, at Cam.
“How’d they find us?” Cheyenne’s voice was choked with the panic that was threatening to overwhelm her.
“I don’t-“ The words died, his face going tight.
“What?”
Cam reached into the front pocket of his pants and brought out a small object. At first glance it looked like a thumb drive, but when he sat it on the table between them she saw that it wasn’t.
“What is that?”
Behind Cameron she watched the zombie press its face and hands to the glass, those blank eyes fixed on what lay on the table between them.
“Remember how I told you I based their programming on the hive mentality of bees?”
“Yes.” She felt dread shimmer up her spine and she knew she wasn’t going to like his answer.
Kline hit the glass; it was a light blow, just testing the integrity, the strength of the glass. Cam’s hand closed over the small capsule.
“We have to go.”
“Tell me what it is.”
“The Queen.”
Kline launched himself at the glass. It held under the force of the blow, but a spider web of cracks appeared, shooting out from the apex of the impact.
“Hey!” The waitress came around the counter, drawn out by the noise.
Cam scooted out of the booth, grabbed Cheyenne’s arm, pulling her up with him.
“Call the police.” He ordered the waitress as he half dragged Cheyenne toward the door.
“Hey, hey! You didn’t pay!” The waitress was torn between following them and going for the phone.
Cam paused by the door, pulled a crumpled twenty from his pocket and dropped it on the counter. “Call the police.”
Still holding Cheyenne’s arm he drew her through the door as the window gave way.
“We can’t leave her!” Cheyenne tried to pull her arm free and was surprised when his grip held. There was muscle i
n his lean frame.
“No time, look.” Cam pointed across the parking lot where she had parked her truck.
She looked, watched as the shadows melted forward into the shape and forms of three more zombies.
“We won’t make it.”
They heard a scream behind them, they turned back to look. The waitress screamed again and ducked behind the counter as Kline passed by. She was safe, but they were not, Kline lurched into the door that had closed behind them. Frustration had him baring his bloodied teeth as behind them the others approached with alarming speed.
“Run.” Cam shoved her away, shoved her toward an escape.
She staggered two steps, than looked back at him. Watched as he pulled the Queen from his pocket. “What are you doing?”
“Giving them what they want.”
She grabbed his arm. “Leave it! Come with me.”
“Go, I’ll catch up.”
“Doc-!”
“Go!”
He pushed her away and headed straight for the zombies.
“Doc…” She whispered it, hesitated, then ran as glass shattered and Kline broke through the door behind her. She ran to the edge of the parking lot before slowing enough to glance back. She wasn’t being pursued. She could see them edging in around Cam, all of them spotlighted by a single street lamp as if starring in some horrible stage play. She started back then heard the wail of distant sirens. The police were coming…and she couldn’t stay. She hesitated long enough, until she could see the red and blue strobe of their lights, stayed long enough to watch Cam drop the vial that held the Queen and edge away. Watched as they closed in around the Queen, ignoring Cam, ignoring her, ignoring the police. She turned and ran into the dark, leaving him and her truck behind.
Cam watched terrified and fascinated as they huddled around the Queen. He could hear the sirens, felt overwhelming relief as he watched the police pull into the parking lot. He looked past them, looked for her, but she was gone. He felt a tug of disappointment, then focused on what was happening now. It was going to be OK. They would be safe.
The police got out of the two cars, training lights on the four creatures, all fighting to hold the Queen.
“Let me see your hands!” The older of the cops ordered his light swiveling over them to Cam. “You, too!”
Cam obligingly raised his hands, but his attention was on Kline. Kline now held the Queen, his hands prying at the case that only Cam knew how to open.
“I said put your hands up where we can see them.” The police officer’s hand dropped to the butt of his weapon.
Cam’s gaze flicked over the cops as they started forward.
“Don’t go near them!” He called, starting forward himself to intercept the police.
“You, stay there. Keep your hands up and stay where you are.”
“You don’t understand-“
Kline gave a guttural cry of frustration, slammed the Queen down and launched himself toward the police. The night exploded with the sound of gunfire as all four creatures surged toward the police, unheeding the shouted orders to stand.
Cam watched as bullets rocked them back, watched as they still came forward. Watched as Kline surged into a run to tackle one of the police, dragging him down as his shot went wild, a gun blast that cut the night. Cam felt a blow in his chest, felt like he had been struck by a baseball bat. He staggered and even as he fell he saw Harris’ head explode from the impact of a .38 slug. He hit the ground, could feel the gravel of the parking lot bite into his skin. There was something hot on his chest, wet, spreading. Numbly his hand lifted; touched the wet. He stared at the red on his fingers. It was a shock, the shock of realization, that rushed over him, but it was quickly replaced by a sudden sick wave of fear. He had been shot. Vaguely he realized that the guns had been silenced. The screams came to him as if from a long distance. He stared at his fingers, not feeling pain. His hand dropped limply. He could feel the warmth of the blood on his fingers cool under the night breeze. The light seemed to dim, his vision darken. As everything slowly faded he heard slow, shuffling footsteps on the gravel.
***
She had run maybe two blocks when the blast of gunfire stopped her. What made her turn back and run towards it she couldn’t say. She knew very clearly what awaited her if the cops saw her. They knew her by sight and none of them would hesitate in slapping a pair of handcuffs on her. Sherriff Hogan had given them strict orders concerning his baby girl. But even knowing this, she turned back and ran to him.
She stopped just at the edge of the shadows, her stomach turning, the bile burning up her throat at the sight. She dropped to her knees on the ground, ignoring the gravel that bit through the fabric of her jeans into her skin. The horror of it all seemed burned into her, into heart and soul. She knew those men. Had known them her whole life and what was left of them was nothing more than mangled mounds of flesh. Beyond them lay the body of one of the killers, its head a mess of blood and chunks of brain matter. The waitress lay, half in, half out of the diner. It looked like she had been thrown through the front window and the glass had shredded her skin into ribbons. Cheyenne covered her mouth with both of her hands, holding in the tears. The only sound that escaped was a low keening, a wail more than words. She pressed her hands into her mouth, biting down so that the pain cut through the horror. Slowly she drug in her breath, forced it to settle, regulate and forced herself up. Forced herself forward into the nightmare.
Her steps were slow, her knees felt weak, her legs rubbery as the gravel crunched under the soles of her boots. The blood started before the bodies and she was careful to skirt it where she saw it, wet and black in the dim light of the single street lamp. When she came to the first body the nausea surprised her in its violence and she found herself falling to her knees again as her stomach rebelled. When the sickness passed she wiped her mouth and got weakly to her feet. Still teetering on the edge of panic she forced herself to reach down and feel for a pulse.
“Oh, God.” She whimpered. The blood was still warm as it slowly oozed from the deep lacerations on the officer’s throat. She clamped down on her fear, felt for the pulse and when she didn’t find one made herself move from one to the next. They were all dead, even the waitress, whose eyes stared at her blankly, already filmed over in death. Cheyenne straightened away, determined to get to her truck and get the hell out of there. It was then her eyes found Cameron. He was sprawled on his back and there was blood all over him.
“Oh, God, Doc!” She raced to his side, not feeling the tears as they ran hot down her cheeks.
She was at his side in moments, feeling for a pulse and when she found one she laughed in hysterical relief. She looked now for the wound and her hands froze in disbelief when they found the single bullet wound high in his chest. She applied pressure wincing in sympathy and disgust as blood continued to ooze and find its way between her fingers. She looked around at the shadows for any sign of them, then with her eyes measured the distance to her truck. She looked again at his face. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
***
He dreamed of blood. Of blood and corn mazes, of darkness and screams. He dreamed of death and woke to pain. It was centered in his chest, a hot throbbing ache. His eyes opened slowly, his lids felt weighted and when he finally managed to pry them open everything was blurred, unfocused and fuzzy. His right hand flailed out, feeling for a nightstand, his nightstand, and came in contact with another person. His hand froze on a curving hip under the thin layer of a sheet while his mind tried to remember where he was and why there was a woman beside him in a bed that wasn’t his own. She moved, rolling up on her elbow to lean over him. Her hair, straight and black, framed her face and slid over to curtain them.
“How are you feeling?”
He recognized those eyes, copper gold and memories of the night rushed back to him in a swift chill and he shivered.
“My glasses?”<
br />
She shifted away, then leaned back to slip the slender metal arms over his ears. She came into sudden focus, her face softened by the last traces of sleep.
He pushed up on his elbows and winced as the throbbing increased to a sharp, stabbing pain. “Fuck.”
“Easy.” She pressed him back against the pillows. “You were shot.”
“That explains a lot.” He looked around the room.
It was woefully small and, what he could see in the dim morning light, would not make the list of must stay destinations. “Where are we?”
“A rent by the hour place off 5.” Her lips quirked. “Paid for the whole night.”
“That explains the décor.” He shifted again and this time she helped him sit. The pain was a live thing in his chest, throbbing, burning. It made his breath catch in his throat and his vision wavered even with his glasses on.
“I don’t have anything to give you for the pain. I’m sorry.”
“You could have taken me to a hospital.”
Her face closed down and she rolled off the bed in a quick fluid motion of her sleek body. “I couldn’t, they know me there.”
She grabbed up a pair of jeans that had hung draped over a small chair and slid her long legs into the coarse material.
“What is it with you? You wanted or something?”
Those copper eyes flashed at him. “Or something.”
He shrugged and instantly regretted it. “Fine, whatever.”
He eased over in the bed until his legs hung over the side. It was then he realized he was butt assed naked. He looked over at her. “Clothes?”
She snarled at him. “Complain, complain, complain.”
“You’re right, sorry. Thank you.”
She nodded, but didn’t meet his eyes.
“I mean it. Thank you.”
He looked down at his shoulder; the wound was covered with a tidy, if makeshift bandage. He would live. “How long?”
“How long were you out?”
“Yeah.”
She picked up his clothes, cleaned, dried and now wrinkled. “Only a few hours.”
She dropped the clothes beside him, her face showing a shift of emotions from irritated to sad. “They killed the cops, the waitress too.”
“What?” His head snapped up, the pants pausing at his knees.
“Yeah, tore them up really good.” She moved restlessly around the room, her eyes sweeping, looking for something she wouldn’t find there.