Dead Frontier/Issue 135

This is Issue #135 of Dead Frontier, titled Hound. This is the third issue in Volume 23.

Issue 135 - Hound
Karl sits in a cold, metal chair, in a room that’s bland and empty besides the window he currently stares out of, which gives him a view of another empty room. He’s tried to convince them that he’s not sick, but they wouldn’t listen. Stuffed him in here and forced him to wait for too long.

He finally hears something. The unlocking of a door. However, it’s not the door to his room. After a few seconds, someone is visible through the window. He's a stout man with a well-groomed moustache. He wears an out-of-place beige suit, his tie tight around his neck. Glasses hang from the pocket of his crisp white shirt, and a clipboard rests under his arm.

He walks over to the window. "Hello," Natesh says. His voice sounds slightly distorted, as if he's talking through a speaker. "I am Dr. Verma."

"I know," Karl says, and Natesh raises his eyebrows in response. "I used to live here. Kicked me out a while ago."

"Ah. That's unfortunate." Natesh looks down at his clipboard, clearly uninterested in the topic. He looks up. "You're not sick."

"No."

"What was your purpose in leaving the quarantined zone and pretending, then?"

"I didn't mean to cause any trouble--"

"Why did you do it? That was my question."

Karl swallows hard. He's trying to formulate a lie, but Natesh's unrelenting stare makes it too difficult. He thinks back to Duke, Adam, and Daniel. He can only hope they've gotten Ivy and are on their way out of Denver right now. He has to buy them some time. "I can't say," Karl says.

Natesh sighs and scratches his chin. "Why is that?" Karl is silent. "I can find a way for you to tell me. But I don't want it to come to that."

Farrah is still fuming after her exchange with Hunter. In the cramped apartment, there’s not a wide range of options to be alone, but one of the bedrooms is empty. With the bulky brace on her foot, it takes a second to get there. She closes the door behind her when she finally does and sits herself on the rough mattress.

Of course she doesn’t get much time alone--the door creaks open a few minutes after, and Cedric peeks his head in. “Everything’s pretty chill now,” he says. “So you can come back out.”

“No thanks,” she says. Cedric searches for something else to say, instead of just leaving her here by herself.

“Thought you two were friends.”

“We are. He’s just temperamental and weird so it’s hard not to get pissed at him sometimes.” She looks up at him suddenly. “How come you didn’t kick him out when you had the chance?”

It was Cedric’s vote that determined Hunter’s stance in the group. A single word could’ve sent Hunter on the road, but Cedric picked the one that kept him here. Even though every glare from Hunter sends a chill down his spine.

“Because he had every right to kick my ass,” Cedric says. “Why? Do you want him out?” He steps inside fully, closing the door behind him.

“That’s a little harsh but...I could live without him. Let’s just say that.”

“I think we all could.” He forces a laugh that she doesn’t reciprocate. “Don’t let him pull that life-saving shit on you. Doesn’t give him the right to be a dick.”

“He’s right. I don’t know why he wasted his time. I already feel like shit and now I’ve got a busted ankle.”

Cedric narrows his eyes at her. “You do look a little weird. You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine. I think I just need some sleep or something, I dunno.”

She looks like she’s ready to pass out then and there, so he just offers her a nod. “You relax a little, then. Head back on out when you’re feeling better.”

He turns, exits out the door, and closes it quietly behind him.

Waiting has become the primary goal. Waiting for the streets to calm down some, and waiting for the return of Duke, Daniel, Karl, and Adam, with Ivy hopefully under their care if they get back. The room is quiet and bleak, and Lienne and Jake are the only ones who have departed.

Dean occupies a seat at the kitchen table. He taps his foot against the ground in a tedious beat. He looks up briefly, sees Lucy sitting directly across from him, and looks back down again.

"When are you thinking about telling everyone?" he asks, keeping his voice subdued. As far as he knows, he's still the only one that knows about her pregnancy.

"I don't know," she says. "Whenever it feels right. When everything's less...crazy."

"Makes sense." The curt conversation is on the verge of dying out, but Dean feels obligated to liven it again. "If you need anything--I...I don't know what you would need but--if you do, I'm here to help if I can. If you want." He swallows hard, shifting his body some so he can rest his cheek on his fist.

"Thank you." She pauses. "Really. Thank you."

He nods and turns his head down again. He scratches his face, afterward bringing his hand to the table and fiddling with the single placemat. "How are you holding up?" she asks.

He looks up suddenly and points to his chest. She nods with a barely-detectable smile. "I'm okay."

"I should get you drunk again. That's when you like to talk."

He laughs shortly. "Nah, it's fine."

It's clear he doesn't want to divulge any of his own frustrations. Still, after a short bout of silence, she continues, "Do you know what's weird?"

"What's weird?"

"I don't know anything about you. Except your ACT score and your college GPA."

"There's not much else."

"There's a lot. You're not a hard guy to read, Dean, even if you think you are."

"I'm serious. Nothing crazy or fascinating’s ever happened to me. I'm not interesting."

"What if I think you are?"

Truth is, he's a little self-conscious. He doesn't know much about her, either, but he knows enough to deduce that they couldn't be more different. She's the rich daughter of a former-boxer-turned-politician, was probably the envy of everyone she knew. And he was the kid in the back with the big ears, the one who wore the same tattered clothes every day and never raised his hand although he aced every single test. "Okay. Fine. I was dirt poor, I got made fun of for my ears, and my parents got divorced. And I had two little sisters. Simple."

She pauses. "Your ears?"

"Is that all you got out of my fascinating story?" he asks.

"No--I'm sorry. That was rude. Nothing's wrong with your ears."

"They're big, I know. Dumbo was my nickname, from kindergarten through senior year."

"That's not even a good insult,” she says.

He laughs again. "Well, it stuck. I was kind of expecting you to laugh. It was the girls like you that made it up, too."

She creases her eyebrows. "Like what? I wasn't a bully, ever."

"The pretty ones with the money and the clothes and the guys and everything. The stereotype. You know what I'm talking about."

"I wouldn't've called you Dumbo."

"You would've thought of a better insult?" He raises his eyebrows.

"How about not insult you at all?" He scoffs in response. "You think it's bullshit, but I'm serious. I was on the other end of it, too."

"Really?" he replies. He's still slightly skeptical.

"I was 17,” she says. “Never even had a boyfriend before, because I wanted to focus on school. I ended up sleeping with this guy at a party and you might as well have branded whore on my forehead. Seriously, it was terrible my senior year."

"17?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, and she smirks at the look on his face.

"That's actually pretty late. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"When did you lose it?"

He hopes no one begins to wonder why he strikingly resembles a tomato all of a sudden. "Is this really an appropriate time to talk about me losing my virginity?" She laughs, makes sure to quiet to volume of it, but her look of amusement doesn't go away. "Are you actually looking for an answer?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"Because it's embarrassing."

"I don't judge. Usually."

"That's not helping," he says.

"Okay. I promise I won't laugh at you," she assures.

"You will."

"I won't."

He sighs. She's rather persistent today. "22."

She almost looks relieved. "I seriously thought you were going to say never."

"Oh, fuck off," he says jokingly, and he laughs as he covers his reddened face with his palms. He gives his head a quick shake. "I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one conversation," he says, sliding his hands back down to the table.

"Told you I wouldn't laugh," she says as he rises from the table. "I've never seen someone get so red, though. It's...fascinating."

She's really enjoying this, apparently. "Yeah, good talk," he says quickly, and he hears her chuckling again as he proceeds out of the kitchen and over to the living room, plopping himself down on the first couch he sees.

There’s the rough pounding of footsteps from outside the door. From the comfort of Daniel’s room, no one thinks anything of it. It only takes a few minutes for the sounds to be intermixed with shouts and the busting down of doors. Nervous looks are exchanged, and Cedric is the first to stand.

He walks over and puts his ear against the door. “--protocol. Yes--absolutely necessary…” he hears. Cedric turns to everyone else and gives a confused shrug and shake of his head. He flinches, as does everyone else, when there's a powerful knock on the wood.

"Standard check-in," says the ominous voice on the other side of the door. "Some kind of sickness is going around. Anyone with symptoms should exit the area immediately."

There's a long silence. He's obviously waiting for a response. "Uh..." Cedric says. "I think we're all good in here."

"Procedure requires entry. Please unlock your door."

"I'm good, man. Everything's fine."

"Please unlock your door."

His robotic voice, laced with a just-noticeable amount of hostility, is loud enough for everyone to hear. Hunter gives him an encouraging nod from the couch. "The last time someone opened a door for these motherfuckers, it didn't work out too well," Cedric says in a harsh whisper. His eyes then shift to Tora, whose condition has only worsened as time has gone on.

"They're gonna fucking bust it down anyway!"

There's a period of quiet deliberation, filled with the possible consequences of opening that door. But what other choice do they have? Cedric unlocks the door, revealing the wreckage recently created in the halls. Gray-skinned people are being escorted roughly out of the apartment, doors being forced open with crowbars. Cedric takes a step away from the hulking, uniformed figures before him.

The frontmost soldier, a row of insignia lining his right sleeve, takes a step forward. On the chest of his uniform, a thin, rectangular plate reads the name 'Cortez.' His eyes instantly fall on Tora, who's trying her best to keep herself hidden behind Hunter. "Her," he says brusquely.

"She's fine, seriously," Cedric says. "She just ate something bad earilier." He moves himself in front of Cortez, blocking his path from Tora. Cortez seems to be at the brink of his frustrations--in one swift motion, he pulls out the baton at his side and cracks Cedric across the head with it. Cedric's limp body collapses to the ground, the scene chorused with gasps.

"Come with me. Standard protocol," Cortez barks, and he stomps toward Tora. He gives Hunter a harsh shove and grabs her by the arm. He scans the fearful faces of everyone else and focuses his gaze on Farrah. "Her too."

"Me?" Farrah says. Cortez notices the pale tint her skin is taking on. It could be nothing; it could be a sign. He's not one to take chances.

Her protests and the rapid questions of everyone else go unanswered, and they're both forced out the door.

These secretive upper floors are filled with people as well, most of which wear lab coats or other professional attire. Duke, Adam, and Daniel couldn't stand out more, even if they did steal a couple lab coats and slip them on over their street clothes. "She's up here somewhere. Has to be," Adam says as they proceed through another brightly lit hall.

"--Little girl has it. Youngest we've seen so far," someone says. The voice comes from a room to their right, where the door is slightly ajar. They stop suddenly.

"How old?" another voice replies.

"Twelve."

"Wow."

"It's amazing, though. How it all works."

The conversation quickly drifts away from Ivy, and the three continue on. "We can't just be walking around like this," Duke says. "Someone's gonna catch on."

The walls on their right and left are lined with identical rooms. Suddenly, a figure throws itself against one of the windows. Duke, Daniel, and Adam jolt backwards, put at ease just a little when they see it's an infected and the glass is bulletproof. It lets out a piercing scream and claws at them eagerly. They ignore it as best as they can and turn another corner.

The next hall they traverse is different. It takes on a hospital-esque feel. The rooms are set up with a bed, a desk, and a cabinet with a biohazard sticker plastered on the surface. A single person occupies each one. Most of them look similar--skin pale, faces sagging sleepily, demeanor slouched and exhausted. Duke, Daniel, and Adam scan them quickly, coming across no one they recognize.

Until they see Tora hunched over on one of the beds, coughing into the crook of her elbow. They stop at the window, unsure if they should call out and get her attention or not. She looks up before they can make a decision and walks unsteadily toward the window.

“Tora--what are you doing here?” Daniel says. On her side, his voice is barely audible, muffled slightly through the glass. His face falls at her deplorable condition. She looks like she can barely stand, let alone talk. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I got really sick and they--they brought me here. They told me to wait,” she says. He has to lean his head closer to the window to make out what she says, but he nods to let her know he understands.

“We’ll get you out of here, okay?” he says. He looks at the door. There’s a keypad requiring a code, and he curses under his breath.

“Farrah…”

“What?”

“Farrah’s here, too. I don’t know if she’s sick but--she’s here. Somewhere.”

Down the hall, a man and women in lab coats turn the corner. Duke pulls on Daniel’s sleeve and nods his head toward the two strangers. “We’ve gotta go,” Duke urges. “We’ll come back.”

Daniel takes one last look at Tora, and before he speeds off he does what he always does: gives her a reassuring smile.

Everything will be okay.

"Cedric! Ced!" Lucy shouts, on her knees next to him. He's been rolled over onto his back, and Lucy places an ear to his chest. "I don't think he's breathing."

"Here--let me see," Hunter says. Lucy scoots over a few inches to give Hunter space, and Dean watches cluelessly from behind them. Hunter places two fingers on Cedric's neck and feels for a pulse. Nothing. He examines the wound on Cedric's head next--it's nothing grotesque. Just a lump with the beginnings of some bruising. "What...what the hell do I do?"

He turns his head to Lucy, and then Dean, neither of whom can provide an answer. Doubting its success, Hunter moves into CPR. Minutes of chest compressions pass, and not another ounce of life flows through Cedric's body. "Did he really just die?" Dean asks, now more perplexed than frightened. But his shaking hands show that his fear still hasn't subsided.

"I think so," Hunter says, moving from a crouch to a sitting position. "Might have hit him somewhere crucial. Internal damage." Hunter shakes his head in a disappointed manner. "Oh, well."

"Oh, well?" Dean echoes. "I get that you didn't like the guy--but come on." Dean looks down at Hunter, meeting his glare, but he can't hold Hunter's stare for more than a few seconds. He instead gazes down at Cedric's body. He doesn't look dead. Almost like he should awaken any second.

"People die. It happens. Do we dump him or tell somebody?"

"Hunter," Lucy chastises.

"What?" he replies in a mocking tone. "I consider myself a pretty honest person. I'm not gonna lie and pretend I care. Because I don't. And at least I tried to save the guy. Didn't look like you two were going to do anything about it, did it?"

He rises to his feet, smoothing down the front of his shirt. "Bodies don't really make for good decoration so..." Hunter continues. "Should probably get him out of here before Daniel gets back. C'mon."

Natesh’s threat rings in Karl’s ears. He knows how heartless these people can be already, and it’s easy to guess the lengths they’ll go to to get information they desire. Natesh waits patiently for some kind of response from Karl. He can practically see every possible consequence spinning through Karl’s head.

“Alright. I’ll just--” Natesh starts.

“Wait. I’m sorry--I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble,” Karl says. A sheen of sweat on his forehead shines against the light, and he wipes it off clumsily with a swipe of his palm. The words are on the tip of his tongue--how easy it would be to just rat out Duke, Daniel, and Adam and save himself.

He’s put others before himself for as long as he can remember. Maybe he deserves a break this time. He deserves to get to LA. He should be able to live his final years happily.

“Me and a couple of friends,” Karl begins, “we...we know that girl. That little girl you took. I was supposed to be a distraction while they got her out.”

Karl swallows hard, his eyes filling with tears. Natesh, however, shows no reaction at all. “Thank you,” Natesh says, and he’s out the door swiftly.

Hunter returns after about a half hour. He wipes his hands on his jeans as he walks through the front door. “I told Lienne and Jake,” he says, referring to Cedric’s recent demise. “They’re already depressed enough--didn’t want to stay for that reaction.” Lucy and Dean don’t respond from their place on the couch.

He takes a left into the kitchen and does a quick search of the cabinets. All he finds is a box of crackers. He opens it and fills his palms with a few of them. “So, how’ve things been since my absence?” Hunter asks, and he lifts himself up onto the counter.

“We went to our rooms, packed some stuff,” Lucy says. They’re planning on leaving if everything gets sorted out, but right now, it doesn’t seem like they’re going to be departing anytime soon. It’s not like they have much to pack, anyway, so it didn’t take very long.

“How exciting,” Hunter says flatly.

“More enjoyable than dumping a body,” Dean says.

“It wasn’t that bad. Ced’s found a decent home in an alleyway now. Maybe he’ll find more love from the rats than he did here.” Hunter lets out a sinister laugh and pops another cracker into his mouth. “What’re you looking at me like that for?” His comment is directed toward Dean, who just shrugs.

“It just seems like common decency to show some respect for a dead guy. Did you spit on his body after tossing him?”

“I didn’t, but good idea, lad. Maybe I’ll head back out later.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

Hunter scoffs and hops off the counter. He finishes off his last cracker and slaps his hands together to get rid of the crumbs. “Because you’re such a decent fucking person,” Hunter says.

“This is ridiculous,” Lucy adds in. As Hunter approaches, Dean stands, and she does, too.

“I just don’t understand it. Mister ‘I’m better than everyone’ O’Sullivan.. Mister ‘Let me point out your flaws so I look like less of a dipshit.’”

“Hunter--” Lucy interjects, but he stops her by lifting up his palm.

“And you defend him every time because--I don’t know why, actually. Did you forget he called you out on your shit? Called your boyfriend out, too, until he cried like a fucking baby?”

She responds by smacking him in the face with so much force that the vision in his left eye is briefly replaced with a bright flash of light. Hunter rubs his rapidly reddening cheek and lets out a short chuckle. “Ouch,” he says simply, the lack of emotion in his voice eerily contradicting the rage in his face. “Boxer daddy teach you to hit like that, did he?”

“You should probably leave,” Dean says, placing a hand between Hunter and Lucy before she can retaliate again. Dean nods as a bit of encouragement.

“Gladly. Don’t have too much fun while I’m gone,” Hunter says. He walks toward the door, opting to turn his head one last time. Lucy can swear he looks almost apologetic.

“Look,” Duke prods. In the hall, he points to the door a few feet away from them. A man stands in front of it, punching numbers into the keypad.

Adam gets an idea, so he hurries over. Adam runs into the man, portraying it as an accident, and mutters a quick apology and continues on. The man mutters something under his breath and turns back to the door. He presses ‘CLEAR’ on the keypad, and enters the code again. Adam watches slyly from over his shoulder, the numbers ‘38945’ lighting up as the man presses them. The man disappears into the room soon after, and Adam rushes back to Duke and Daniel.

“Three-eight-nine-four-five,” Adam recites. Searching for Farrah, they were forced to delve deeper into the building's halls. They circle back to reach Tora again, Daniel leading. The rooms and corridors all look the same, so they glance into every windowin their search. They spot Tora after what seems like forever, back to her place on the bed. She looks up and actually smiles at the sight of them. Daniel returns it.

“Three-eight-nine-four-five, three-eight-nine-four-five,” Adam repeats neurotically. He heads over to the door, positions himself in front of the keypad.

“Stop!” a harsh voice shouts from somewhere down the hallway. A trio of men in those familiar uniforms they’ve come to dread spin around the corner, guns in hand. Adam clearly doesn’t have time to enter the code and bring Tora to safety, so he breaks into a sprint instead. Duke and Daniel follow his lead. “That’s them!”

They pick up their pace instinctively when a shot rings out. There’s a crushing thud, and when Adam looks back, he sees Duke has collapsed to the floor. His hand is pressed to his neck, where a bullet has pierced it.