Dead Frontier/Issue 86

This is Issue #86 of Dead Frontier by Walkerbait22, titled ''Unknown. ''This is the second issue in Volume 15.

Issue 86 - Unknown
“Everyone was there,” Cole says slowly. He still sits in the same spot he has been since he woke up from his nightmare, as is Duke. "Everyone that's dead now. Everyone I knew, I mean, that's dead now. And they kept asking me all these questions, all at the same time. They weren't even, like, yelling or screaming. They were really calm, just throwing questions at me. 'How come it was me, and not you?' 'You're lucky, aren't you?' Shit like that. And I couldn't even respond to anyone because I didn't know the answers. So they just stared at me, a room filled with all these people, waiting for me to tell them why I'm alive. I kind of want to know myself. Because I don't feel lucky. I'm not lucky, I don't think.”

Cole tries to let his body relax, releasing the tight grip on the bottle in his hands. He leans his head back against the wall and lets the last remnants of his dream flow back to him. He wraps his jacket more tightly around his body to calm his shivering, the building's interior not providing much protection from the cold outside. "And then I had to relive everything," he says. "Even if I wasn't there when that person died. It was weird. It just went from each person to the next, never stopping. I watch them die, move onto the next person. Then something else happened, and it was all of you. You, Lucy, Adam, Billie, everyone. I was the only one alive. The last one. And that’s--that’s the worst--” He stops, knows that if he says another word, that’ll be it for him. Another fit of crying, and he’s already embarrassed by the last one. But he manages to say, “I’m done, Duke. Sorry.”

Duke nods and pats Cole's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze afterward. "Just try to relax until the morning. Then we're gonna get up on out of here."

 ✕✕✕

"How do you feel? Can you walk alright?" Duke asks the next morning as he pulls on his coat. His eyes are rimmed with red after not being able to get much sleep, either, the details of Cole's nightmare making his skin crawl.

"Just hurts a lot," Cole says, holding his side and taking a few cautious steps around the building.

"We'll take it slow then. Maybe the roads aren't that bad and we can find a car to drive back."

"We can barely drive through these streets anyway. Add all the snow, and I doubt it."

Duke shrugs and heads to the door. He uses tries to open it, but is met with resistance. This time, he slams his shoulder against it, each push opening the door a little wider and filling the room with bursts of frigid air. Finally, after a fifth push, the door opens wide, and Duke sees that it was blocked by a barricade of snow. He observes the immediate area outside: nothing but a blanket of snow that reaches just below his knees. "Ah, shit..." he mutters.

"It's bad?" Cole asks. He takes a few steps forward until he has a clear view outside the door. "Wow. Yeah, that's bad."

"Let's just go now. No point in wasting more time. Come on.” Duke exits first, then Cole, and they trek through the frozen city.

Lienne honks the blue sedan’s horn in front of the Hyatt’s gates and she sticks her head out the window. “Open up!” she shouts, and the guard complies. She exits the car with Alec, Lucy, and Logan, and the guard hops from the top of the gate.

“Where the hell is everyone else?” the guard asks.

“Probably dead,” Lienne says, and the guard’s face falls. “There was an ambush.” She says no more and pushes past him, into the lobby of the hotel.

“I’ll go find my dad and tell him what happened,” Lucy says, turning to Alec, Lienne, and Logan, and she heads up the escalators to her right. People are already approaching them, wondering what took them so long, where everyone else is. Lienne is unsure of what to do, if she should even say anything before Alexander knows.

But then Adam grabs her by the shoulders, asking for an explanation. “These guys with guns, they just started shooting, throwing grenades. Everything,” Lienne says.

“Are you serious? Who--”

“W-we don’t know. We only know a few people for sure. It’s all--there’s a lot of confusion right now.”

“There’s only---only three of you. Out of...17 that went?”

“Lucy, too,” Lienne says.

“Four,” Adam says, and Lienne nods. He lets go of her shoulders and lets his hands fall to his sides. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks. I’m just really...a little shaken up.”

Billie descends the escalator and observes the crowd that’s formed in the lobby. Then she spots Alec being bombarded with people, and Adam talking to Lienne, and realizes that they’re back, but doesn’t understand what all of the commotion is about. She asks someone for an explanation, and she’s quickly filled in. She feels her heart fall when she sees no one else, except for Logan, who she can’t remember ever saying a word to.

“Hey!” Billie calls to the crowd. “Hey! Could you give them some space? Please?” She gestures to only to Alec and Lienne, noticing that Logan is too busy hugging some blonde woman. She catches her breath when she sees the blood on Alec, covering his coat, his boats, parts of his face. She grabs his arm. “Devon?” she asks, even though she doesn’t have to judging by the look on his face, and he just gives a small shake of his head. She wipes a tear that’s managed to spill over her eye and maintains her grip on his arm the entire short trip to the medical room, where Lienne explains what she knows about the entire ordeal.

Adam and Billie sit on the floor, side by side, outside the medical room as Chloe checks Lienne and Alec for any possible injuries. The silence between them speaks volumes, all the hurt they feel being expelled without words. “No one should have to die that way,” Adam finally says. “18 years old and she gets blown up with a fucking grenade.” He swallows hard, an uncomfortable feeling forming in his gut.

Billie takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, rubbing her palms against her jeans. She doesn’t want to think about that, the image of Devon that she didn’t even see but knows will haunt her dreams anyway. “I want to go back there. Just to see who--if...you know...”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “You think they’re...?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think right now. I want to think they’re okay, but I’m not going to hope, or prepare for the worst. We’ll find out when we get there.”

“Do you think...do you think you can handle that?”

“Handle what?”

“When we go back to the store...we’re gonna have to look through the bodies, you know? To see who made it, who didn’t.”

“I’ll deal with it,” Billie says.

“That’s not really answering my question.”

“I've seen enough fucked up things, Adam. I'm sure I'll be okay."

"You act like it's not a big fucking deal--"

"I'm not," she denies.

"--Yes, you are. You shrug it off like--like it's nothing. I'm trying to help you out here, because I know, and so do you, that you're not just going to be able to 'deal with' seeing Devon, or Cole like that."

"Like you would be able to."

"I won't," Adam says. "I know I probably won't. But at least I'm admitting it. Preparing for it. I'm just looking out for you, okay?"

"Yeah," she mutters. "Thanks."

"And I know you're hoping he's okay," he says after a few seconds. "I am, too. It's not always a good thing, prepping for the worst."

"It's hard not to when the worst always seems to happen. I'm tired of it." In a fleeting moment of eye contact, he sees her eyes are puffy and red, burdened with crying. He scoots a little closer and puts an arm around her shoulder.

"Cole's a smart guy," he says, "and there's a million possibilities. We'll see."

A small convoy of cars filled with residents from the hotel is sent back to the store, prepared with guns in case any attackers, for some reason, still linger. But they're also prepared to find the bodies of their loved ones. Tora sits silently in a car driven by Adam, her stomach churning with anxiety.

She's so lost in thought, she doesn't realize they've reached the store, after a long drive prolonged with many detours, until Billie, who sits at her side, taps her on the shoulder.

"You don't have to go in," Billie tells her. Tora sighs and leaves the car, slams the door shut without responding.

Adam stands at the front of the store, in front of the group. He addresses them: "Split up into a few groups. Make note of who find and who you don't. Try to make it quick, we don't want to be here long."

Billie begins searching the store woth Tora and a middle aged woman who ends up breaking away from them anyway when she finds the body of her son. In their section of the store, they don't find many bodies; just two women Tora can recall were sisters named Sarah and Sadie. Tora motions over to two men who come over, wrap the sisters' bodies in blankets, and carry them to the back of a pickup, where they'll be transported back to the hotel for a mass funeral. Billie and Tora continue on.

"Billie," Tora says as they both step over a splotch of blood.

"Yes?"

"I don't want to be insensitive, but can I ask you something?"

"Of course. Whatever you want."

Tora peeks inside a room labeled ‘Employees Only,’ finding nothing but a room filled with boxes, when she asks, "Do you think...Is it better knowing or not knowing if someone's dead?"

"I...I think it really depends," Billie says. "Maybe all of the clues point to them being alright, or they all point to...to them not being alright. If it's more likely that they're okay, I think that's better than knowing for sure that they're not okay. Or you can flip the situation around: if there's a good chance they didn't make it, but you don't know for sure...I think it's better just to know they're gone. To have that closure." There's a long silence, so she adds, "But there's always hope, right?" referencing their last conversation.

Tora just shrugs.

"Sorry I'm not much help," Billie says. "I'm not really the one to cheer people up. That's more of Adam's job."

"It's fine," Tora says, "Might as well get all of this over with anyway."

They decide to leave it at that, finishing up, in silence, searching their section of the store. All thats left is a one-stall bathroom hiding in a corner of the store adjacent to an electronics aisle. The door is slightly ajar, and as Billie pushes it open, a pool of blood comes into view, staining the white tiles that line the floor. There's blood spatter along the mirror, too, and a large, navy blue jacket hanging over the sink. The back of the jacket is ripped, as is the left sleeve. Billie grabs it, but before she can get a good look at it, Tora rips it from her hands.

"It's his," Tora says softly.

"Hiro's?" Billie asks. Tora nods and she holds the jacket close to her body.

"He's alive. I know he is."

Tora's expression, one of total hopefulness, almost makes Billie feel the same way. But she knows better. "We just have to keep looking," Billie says.

Cole walks through the snow, painfully managing to put one foot in front of the other as Duke leads a few feet in front. He listens as Duke, patting a rhythm on his thigh, mutters something under his breath: "...I put hoes in NY onto DKNY, Miami, D.C. prefer Versace, all Philly hoes, dough and Moschino..."

"What the hell are you saying, man?" Cole asks.

Duke turns and scoffs at him, beginning to walk backwards. "That's Biggie. Biggie Smalls. One of the biggest rappers in the 90s? Of all time?"

"Oh," Cole says.

"Oh, hell no. You don't know who Biggie is?"

"Of course I do. But do I look like I listen to him?"

"Hey, I don't judge. What rap do you know? Songs, artists..."

"Uh--" Cole begins.

"Terrible question, my bad," Duke says. "I could set you up, though. I've got a bunch of CDs. Spice up that collection you got. All that AC/DC stuff you listen to."

Cole grins. "I hate AC/DC."

"Let me try again." Duke counts on his fingers: "Pink Floyd, Queen, Foo Fighters?"

"Wow. You're good."

"I know. Wouldn't even count out some newer stuff. Maybe some pop, R&B possibly. You don't look like a country guy, not at all..." Duke continues to walk, still trying to deduce Cole's music tastes, when a gunshot whizzes past his head, barely missing his ear. An angry shout follows soon after. He drops to the ground immediately, his cheek smashing into the snow.

Cole hesitates, but he hits the ground too, giving a loud grunt of pain. He grabs his said to dull the pain, and looks to Duke, who lies in the snow directly across from him. They lock eyes, but neither has any plan of action, until Duke nods his head to the right. But another shot rings out, and Cole's sure he can hear the shouts getting closer. Someone saw them. He just doesn't know who.

Duke jumps to his knees, hastily surveying the area around him, seeing no threats but knowing he's dangerously exposed. He holds his hand out to Cole, who takes it, and attempts to lift him to his feet. Cole feels something warm run down his side and realizes it's probably blood as a result of aggrevating his wound even more. But he manages to get to his feet and he staggers down the street behind Duke, who, being in much better condition, is way ahead.

Cole continues to look behind his shoulder, the pain on the brink of being unbearable, and a man comes into view. Then two. Then four. Two have rifles slung over their shoulders, and they are all in pursuit. Cole tries to pick up his pace but fails.

"Come on!" Duke shouts, and he reaches for Cole to pull him forward.

"Keep going!" Cole says, and he stops, takes cover behind a car buried in the snow. Duke looks at him, dumbfounded, as Cole retrieves his pistol. "I'll take them out, and I'll be right behind you."

"Fuck that," Duke says, shaking his head.

"I've got six rounds, you've only got one. Trust me." Not wanting to waste any bullets, Cole peeks over the hood of the car before firing a shot at one of the running man. The bullet grazes his leg, and he falls to the ground. "Now! Go!"

Duke is hesitant, but when he sees two of the men lift their rifles, he runs in the opposite direction, maneuvering around a few cars and daring to look back, where he sees Cole fire another shot at the men, but it’s a miss.

Cole can feel himself panicking. His grip on the gun is unsteady, his heart pounds in his ears, his thoughts fly in thousands of different directions. He’s no longer keeping track of his shots as he fires, trying in vain to take the men down. But given his condition, and their speed, it’s no use.

So he presses the barrel of the gun to his chin instead. Someone yells, “Put the gun down, asshole!” It takes all of the courage he has left to keep the gun pointed at himself, and to pull the trigger, but there’s only a single click. “Hey!” the person yells again. “We won’t kill you if you get rid of the gun. Throw it to your left, so we can see it.”

Cole sighs, grateful now that there were no more bullets, but simultaneously frightened at who these men are, what they plan to do. If they won’t kill him, then what do they want?

“Okay!” Cole says, and he throws the gun into the soft snow to his left. Almost immediately, three men hop over the car, guns pointed at Cole. Cole has a hard time distinguishing any of their facial features, since hats are pulled over their ears and scarves over their mouths and noses.

A guy wearing a red Beanie lifts Cole roughly by the shoulders and spins him around,  stabbing the barrel of the rifle into his back. "What else you got on you?" the man asks.

Cole decides to play it safe. "A--a knife. Left hip," Cole says.

The man immediately reaches for Cole's left side and seizes the knife, handing it to the man on his right. "What else?"

"That's it," Cole assures. "That's all I have. I don't know who you are, you don't know who I am, so you can just let me go, right?"

"Be quiet," the man says, then he asks his friend, "Gimme a bag."

His friend brings his backpack around to his front and pulls out a cloth bag, and hands it to the man in the red Beanie. "Staying quiet will do you good," he warns Cole, and he slips the bag over Cole's head, shrouding his world in darkness.

"Jordie, take him," the man orders, and the biggest of the bunch easily lifts Cole over his shoulder. "Take him back to the car. You--" He slaps the second guy on the arm. "Come with me. Make sure Topher's okay."

"Bullet barely grazed him," Jordie says.

"Did I ask you? Greg, come on." They head back the way the came, with Greg and the man in the red Beanie stopping to tend to Topher, the only victim to one of Cole's shots. The bullet nicked him in the leg, so Greg helps him walk the rest of the way, while Jordie is nearly to the car. When he gets there, he pops open the trunk, and stuffs Cole inside. He reaches in, pulls out a pair of handcuffs, and clips them onto Cole's wrists.

"You're a quiet one," Jordie says. "That's good."

"Fuck off," Cole says, his voice slightly muffled.

Jordie grins. "Hope the ride ain't too bumpy for ya." And he slams the trunk shut.