Chapter 23
Celia whimpered, the sound so small in her throat. Tears blurred her vision. A large boot pressed down in the center of her back sending more dull and crushing pain through her body. She could barely breathe. Less than a foot away, Mary lay motionless with a blank stare directed at her. There was no life in it. Her body jerked a little as two walkers bit into her. One in her thigh and the other in her side. Celia let out a hoarse cry. Sharp pain ripped up her throat and down into her chest.
"Cry all you like, sweetheart. Nobody will hear you since I snipped your vocal cords." His voice was soft and silky and held no remorse. He sounded glad that they'd happened across this place as if they were old friends they hadn't seen in a long time. He showed her the surgical scissors he used on her, dark red blood coating the sharp edges. They still gleamed under the bright fluorescent lighting. Her eyes widened with even more fear.
Using more of his weight, the mystery psycho playing doctor pressed his boot harder into her back and she rasped out a rough exhale. Her heart pounded into the cool floor. His breath was hot on her ear suddenly. "And I'll be doing a lot more. It's been a while since I've had a cadaver to practice on."
Celia croaked and hiccupped. Blood spit up and out of her mouth across the white linoleum.
The dormitory was clear. The first floor was just an art department. A few classrooms and a gallery. The metal desks were clean. Their fuzzy tops incredibly shiny. The supplies were neatly on the shelves. Nothing really worth looking at.
So, they went to the second floor. The door to the floor was unlocked letting out into a narrow hallway that split to the right about three doors down. The wooden doors were thick, but a few jams to the handles busted the locks. Every room was styled and mostly clean and all-female. This was a girl's dorm floor.
Everyone could get their own room. It was a cheerful thought. Ryan liked one in particular. She could see all of campus out the window. Well, mostly. She didn't see the closed gates; the only entrance and exit of campus. The room was mostly neutral blue and barely inhabited with a modern geometric style. There weren't any pictures of anyone who used to stay in the room, but the girl who'd lived here was nearly her size. The clothes were a little bigger but that was fine.
Everyone was grateful for a bed to sleep in. each door was open. She could hear Sophie talking to Alicia. Ryan wandered into the bathroom. The stalls were opposite a row of showers. She stopped by the one closest to the door. Sliding back the thick shower curtain, she flipped the knob and jumped when water came spraying down from the showerhead wildly.
"Holy shit," she muttered.
It was cold on her skin, but…
"Running water," she said, surprised. A shadow of a smile graced her lips. She let it run for a minute longer then shut it off.
She went back to her room and found a shower caddy beneath the bed and then searched around for candles. While the water worked, electricity did not. There are always candles even though they were contraband. Reed had complained about it on and off. About ten minutes into her shower, she heard another shower faucet turn on.
"This. This is nice," Sophie said. "And I know it's pointless, but I have a TV in my room. And there's a DVD player and a stack of Disney movies. When Mary and Celia get over here, we're definitely doing a sing-a-long to Mulan."
Ryan stopped mid-rinse of her hair. That was weird. It had been almost over an hour.
"They're still not back?" She asked.
"No," Sophie replied. "Grant and Strand went to find the dining hall. Grant said he'd find them. They probably got lost. This place is pretty big."
There was a sinking feeling in Ryan's stomach. She finished rinsing out her hair and then moved on to shaving her legs. Being excited about clean-shaven legs was peak pathetic, but it felt so good.
After dressing in what she assumed was clean underwear, skinny jeans, and a plain black T-shirt, she sat back on the wrinkled and dusty comforter on the bed and brushed out her hair, starting at the tips. It had grown longer nearly touching her ribs. She was halfway through when a strange scraping moved above her. Her eyes crawled across the ceiling. She kept brushing through her hair.
Ryan paused again when she saw a flash of black swish past the doorway. Her eyes narrowed but she had a feeling it wasn't anything to worry about. She tossed the brush aside and grabbed her knife, quickly drawing it as she went to the doorway. Just barely, she saw the swish of wavy hair and shifty pale eyes. A smirk formed at the corner of Ryan's lips. Yeah, definitely nothing to worry about.
"You suck at sneaky," she mumbled and went back into the room.
She explored the area a bit more. There were still crevices she hadn't peeked in yet. The desk was organized. Pens and pencils in their place in the holder in the corner. The books were a mix of economics and statistics. Whoever this person had been was a business major. There was also one for Geology, a bird course Reed would call it. A course you fly right through. The easy A. Rocks weren't Ryan's thing. Ryan stopped at one book. It wasn't a textbook. Gravity's Rainbow. She arched her eyebrows with intrigue and picked it up.
Scraping moved across the ceiling again like nails against wood, dull and hollow. She stopped midway back to the bed and waited to hear again. Nothing. The closet stored clothes and some shoes. Though nervous about what she'd find, she looked in the mini-fridge next. A grin sparked. She pulled out a half bottle of whiskey.
"Jack, my favorite part-timer," she said. Not caring that it was warm, she took off the cap and took a long swig. It burned going down and a warm ball settled in her stomach and spread out to her fingertips and toes. She ignored the ache in her chest and took another drink before replacing the cap and leaving the bottle on top of the fridge.
Ryan bit the inside of her cheek. After a few seconds, she moved over to the window. The sun had gone down, leaving only wisps of orange and pink across the horizon. The room was balmy. Though it took a little oomph, she opened the window. The light breeze was warm but nice. Ryan inhaled deeply. The air smelled thick with sun and grass.
Her chest ached dully as she exhaled. She pressed her hand to it, feeling the uneven beats. If this place worked out, she'd have to check out the infirmary. She hadn't told Reed or anyone about her heart. They'd only worry and that worry couldn't be afforded. Maybe it wasn't so dire. It could pass, especially if this was a suitable place. A place they could all rest at and find a home in for a good long while. She inhaled once more. The pain was less. But, that might've been the alcohol numbing it just a bit and that was fine.
Lamps across the campus blinked on with their orange glow as the sun went down past the trees. She kept watching out the window, like Sophie did, expecting to see movement.
"See something?"
The voice was Troy's. Ryan shook her head.
"No," she replied to Troy. She turned. "Have you heard anything strange?"
She said it in a hushed tone, her eyes darting to the ceiling. Troy shook his head. His eyebrows furrowed with curiosity.
"Like what?"
"Serial killer type scraping across the ceiling," she replied, stilling looking up, transfixed. She half-expected to see the Grudge girl crawling around up there.
"Uh, no."
Ryan finally looked at him. There was an amused smirk on his face like she'd made some sort of joke.
"This place is so eerie," she said. Sophie was right about that. This place was so well taken care of. But there were no people, but them?
Turning, she slipped on a fresh pair of socks and her boots, then grabbed her flashlight and knife from the end of the bed then moved past Troy out of the room.
"And where are you going?" He was beside her, leaning over her like the massive tree he was. A walking talking Ent.
"To explore a little," she responded, flicking on the flashlight. She flashed it at him. "Want to come?"
Troy sighed, pursing his lips. He was obviously tired. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, debating with himself.
"Sure. I'm not getting any sleep tonight."
"It's overrated. We'll sleep when we're dead." She shrugged. Then she turned and continued down the hallway.
She heard Troy's heavy steps behind her as she made her way toward the back stairwell. The metal door banged and echoed as they stepped out onto the landing. There was a third floor. Ryan wondered if it would be like the second floor. Maybe somebody was up here and hiding. With that in mind, Ryan wondered if it was friend or foe.
As she reached the third-floor door, Troy quickly stopped her from going to open it. His grip was a little too tight on her wrist. She hissed through her nose and turned her head to snap, but was stopped by the intense look he had. It moved straight past her. He was fixated on the slot of window. It was a serious gaze that she recognized as dangerous.
"I saw movement," he said. His voice was on edge.
Ryan looked back. It was pitch black through the window. She took a step and grabbed the door. She heard the click of Troy cocking his gun and could feel him aiming it just over her shoulder. Holding her breath, she pulled the door.
It clunked from the yank. It was locked. Then a dull thump, a ramming against the door, and a scream pierced the stairwell. A walker, grey, wearing a university shirt, and missing an eyeball, slammed against the door, rasping and groaning. There was a hole in its cheek too. Blackened blood oozed through it, past its rotted molars. Ryan who'd screamed had lurched backward into Troy. He grabbed her, keeping her steady, but staring unblinkingly at the hands that now pressed on the window. There were so many walkers behind the door.
"Whoever was here must've locked them up here. Still want to explore?" he teased.
With a flattened expression, Ryan elbowed him and took a step away.
"Think it's safe?" She asked.
Troy gave the door a few hard yanks and followed it up with a shrug.
"The door is locked solid and at least five inches thick. I think we're alright."
"Great," she said, already halfway back down to the second floor.
She wandered back to her newly claimed room. She didn't notice that her old, trashed clothes were gone from the floor. Lifting her pillow, she placed her knife there, fluffed it then put it back. She stepped on the heel of her boots and slipped out of them before hopping up on the bed. Next door, she could hear the low volume of Mushu's unmistakable sarcasm and dishonoring of the family cow from Mulan.
Her body relaxed the second her head hit the pillow and the aches increased in her feet and shoulders. The light overhead flicked off and for a moment she saw white polka dots dancing before her eyes.
"Move over."
She did without arguing, also turning on her side so that her back was to the wall. As Troy laid next to her, she felt a warm chill creep over her skin. They faced each other but didn't touch. The bed was a full so it wasn't very big which would lead to him falling out of bed if he turned over.
Nights were still filled with nightmares of fields and scorching flames and haunting willows. She didn't want to close her eyes. She had to wait for Mary and Celia anyway so that she could kill them for taking so damn long and making her worry. So, she listened to Troy breathe. It was hard to figure out why they only found decent sleep when sleeping near each other originally. But now she knew. It was safety.
"Are you okay?" He asks quietly.
Ryan felt his fingers touch her chest and trail downward, near her pale scar. It wasn't intrusive or crossing a line, though she resisted a shudder as the horrifying memories of Arnold's vicious assaults tried to wrack her. Even in the dark, she knew his face was drawn with exhaustion and concern.
"I can feel your heartbeat. It's fast. And, you're warm."
"I'm fine." She said maybe too quickly. "It's just been a while since I've gotten felt up in the dark."
Troy's touch disappeared quickly and she laughed under her breath. Of all things that scared him.
"I'm okay," she assured him.
"That's why I saw you cough up blood behind a tree last week?"
Ryan sighed. She was starting to miss the days when he was quiet, resigned, and careless about the lives around him. He was watching her more than anybody else was.
"I'm okay," she repeated. He didn't protest anymore.
He said nothing. It was a short time before his breathing slowed and grew deeper. He fell asleep. She didn't. All she could think about was that Mary and Celia weren't here and that scraping from the third floor. Troy mumbled in his sleep.
"Not shocked the fridge is empty but did you see the pantry?" Grant said. "There are still plenty of canned goods."
"Good. Grab a couple and then we need to find the girls," Strand said. He was still looking in metal cabinets. "We should hurry too. It's dark."
"This place had to have people. You think they're still here? Hiding? Or did they die off?" Grant mused.
"I don't know and I don't want to find out. I want to rest, maybe get drunk if I can find any alcohol and then get the hell out of here," Strand replied curtly.
"Aye, but this place could be good. It's pretty clean." Grant scratched the top of his head.
Strand huffed in obvious disagreement.
"If I've learned anything it's that any place that looks as safe as this definitely isn't. We are in the center of a Venus flytrap, I guarantee it. If we're not careful it will snap shut on us. So, we lay low and leave once it's daylight out," Strand said.
He was stiff, alert with an anxiousness. Both men froze suddenly.
A crackle of white noise opened up over the walkie. Grant and Strand exchanged a look. It cut short. They both shrugged a frowning crease stretching across their foreheads. As far as they knew, there were only four walkies between the group.
"Let's go," Grant said. He was officially spooked.
Strand sighed. Exhaustion reddened his dark eyes. He was always exhausted. He was tired of moving around. They all were. But, it seemed to be never-ending. He nodded, dragging a hand over his head. His hair was greying more and more. Stress was like that. Grant didn't say a word about it though.
"Let's hurry and find the—" Thwick.
Girls. Grant was going to say let's find the girls. Mary and Celia. Mary, sixteen, and Celia, the same age as Sophie, thirteen. Barely old enough to call them teenagers.
His words were cut off abruptly. His chin was wet and so was his chest. Strand's breath caught. Grant's breaths were shallow. His lungs were filling, drowning him. Looking down, an arrow, the head, stuck from his chest.
"Shite…" Grant gurgled. He wobbled. He looked up at Strand who stood frozen, his eyes darting around.
Grant fell to his knees. Strand moved fast to catch him before he toppled over.
"You're okay. We have to move." Strand said. He jostled Grant, trying to wrap the Irishman's large arm around his neck while he pressed his hand as carefully as he could against his chest. The blood seeped between his fingers. Grant was growing heavier as he lost consciousness.
Something whizzed past Strand's head and clacked on the sidewalk. Though he searched, his head moving this way then that, he didn't find what it was.
"Run! I can't see anyone, but run!" Lindsey crackled through the walkie. "We're coming up on you!"
Strand was moving as fast as he could, hobbling. Grant fully collapsed and Strand grunted, falling with him.
Dark red coated the concrete, spreading.
"Grant." Strand said, firmly, as if expecting him to heed.
The only response was a gurgle, a struggle for air. Strand helped Grant turned over. The part of the arrow at his back was broken. Grant was barely breathing now and barely alive.
"It's okay." Strand muttered the lie.
"Run." Grant croaked.
Strand shook his head fiercely. He didn't want to leave him here. For the first time in a long while he wasn't okay with it.
"I don't know if any of you can hear me, but run. Just run goddammit. We came to the wrong town," Strand said into the walkie, his breathing ragged. Grant's blood made handling it slippery.
There was white static. His stomach churned with dread with the worst images of his group flitting across his mind.
"I can hear you…"
A chilling wave of horror consumed Strand. That wasn't Alicia or Troy or Reed or Ryan. The coarse, raspy voice wasn't one he knew at all.
"She can too." A female's raspy scream pierced the silence around Strand, making him jump. He couldn't tell who it was. "You're right. You came to the wrong town. You're ours now and we haven't had new transfers for a while now."
"Listen, just let us go. We'll walk right on out of here. We won't retaliate against you for those you killed," Strand said. "Just let us go."
There was a low chuckle.
"Let you go? But you just got here."
