Dead Frontier/Issue 88

This is Issue #88 of Dead Frontier, titled ''Dauntless. ''This is the fourth issue in Volume 15.

Issue 88 - Dauntless
Cole has barely moved positions in the dark room when John returns, carrying a brown jumpsuit. He tosses it to Cole and says, “Put these on.”

Cole takes the jumpsuit in one hand and attempts to stand on his own. John turns to leave but hears Cole’s struggles in the form of painful grunts. “You alright?” John asks. “Jordie throw you too hard?”

“I kind of got shot,” Cole explains, finally getting to his feet.

“You kind of---are you serious? Should’ve told me that earlier...this changes some things. You might have to do something a little less physically demanding, but you should be okay. Gonna have to send you to the infirmary to get patched up. Get dressed, though. As fast as you can.” John opens the door, and he leaves again.

Changing into a jumpsuit. Being offered medical attention from a man that just kidnapped him. He knows his questions won’t be answered no matter how many times he asks, so he decides it’s best to follow John’s demands. He painfully removes his coat and outer clothing, decides to observe his wound, which, of course, doesn’t look to be healing, and pulls on the jumpsuit, zipping it up in the front. It’s a little big, and there are splotches of blood on the front that he decides not to think about. He slips his boots back on and sits on the floor, waiting for John once more. But it only takes a few minutes for him to return, along with Jordie and another man.

“He’s got a gunshot wound, he says,” John says. “Take him to the infirmary, get him checked out, then bring him to 18.”

“Sounds good,” Jordie says. He grabs Cole by one arm, and the other man grabs Cole by the other, and they drag him down the corridor. “Happy to see me again, aren’t you?”

“Go ahead, keep joking, fatass,” Cole says. And that’s when Cole feels both Jordie and the other man let go of him, dropping him face first to the hard ground. Small amounts of blood drip from his nose, and his lip splits open, a small gash visible. They both laugh, then lift him to his feet again.

“We gotta take him to the infirmary anyways. Right, bud?”

Jordie pats Cole on the back, hard, and when Cole spits out a mixture of blood and saliva, they chuckle again. They turn the corner, walk a few doors down, and lead him to the infirmary that lies behind an unextraordinary brown door.

A tall man wearing a lab coat and glasses that sit low on his nose sits on the desk. He only looks up for a fraction of a second before pointing to the bed next to him, which Jordie forces Cole to sit on.

The man in glasses introduces himself as Dr. Clyde, and in about an hour, he's disinfected and stitched Cole's wound and tended to his lip. He works in swift and stern silence, not bothering to speak unless he's instructing Cole to do something. He uses a walkie talkie to call for someone to fetch Cole, and Cole is soon back in Jordie's hands.

"Room 18. Here we are," Jordie says, stopping in front of a steel door with the '18' stamped on it in dark red. "It won't be too tough. But good luck."

"What's in there?" Cole says, but Jordie is already opening the door. "Don't fucking put me in there!"

"Good luck," Jordie repeats, and he stuffs Cole in the room, slamming the door shut and locking it from the outside.

The room should be completely white, but the ceilings are floors are covered in red stains. He also notices cameras in every corner of the ceiling, a single red light flashing on each one. There's also a wooden door to his left, nothing indicating what could be inside, and something resembling a metal garage door directly in front of him where a wall should be.

He doesn't know what's going on or what exactly he should be doing, so he tries to open both doors, the wooden one first then the metal one, but with no success. So he paces around in the uncomfortable jumpsuit until he hears a staticky voice talking through what sounds like an intercom. It's John, and he sounds excited beyond belief.

"Hey! We usually don't send people to room 18 first," John begins, "but with your injuries I thought I'd make an exception. Sending you to room 22 first would just be unfair. Anyway, this is your first test. We've got the video going and everything. Here's what's going to happen: when I'm done talking, that wooden door to your left is gonna unlock. There's gonna be a shit ton of weapons in there. Pick one, your choice. And when I say pick one, I mean pick one. Choose more than one, that's cheating, and cheating results in insta-death, bro. After that, that big ass metal door in front of you is gonna open and we’re gonna release some infected on you. Do your thing, kill ‘em. If you get bit, you get bit and there’s nothing we can do. So don’t get bit. Pretty simple, right? Any questions?”

“Why the hell am I doing this?!” Cole says.

“Look, just survive this, and room 22, and then you’ll get the full explanation. It’s better I don’t tell you what’s going on because people tend to freak out. Just kill the damn infected, and shut up. Gonna start in a few. When you hear a click, you know the door’s been unlocked. I forget your name...was it Kyle? No, no, Cole. It was Cole. Good luck, Cole.”

Cole can’t get another word in because the intercom shuts off, leaving him in silence again. He stays standing in the middle of the room, dumbfounded, when he hears the click of the door unlocking. Immediately, he rushes to the wooden door and flings it open, where he sees the assortment of hand-to-hand combat weapons, from crowbars to tire irons to rusty pipes to swords and everything inbetween.

He doesn't know how much time he has to pick one, so he chooses the one that catches his eye next: a large warhammer that looks like it came straight out of a video game. It's like an enlarged hammer, the head having a blunt front and a spike on the other end. The weapon is light enough and the handle is long enough for him to hold it in one hand or two. He takes one last look at the other weapons, then grabs the hammer and exits, closing the door behind him. It makes a click sound again, indicating it has locked.

The intercom starts up again: "Hammer, nice choice. I would've went for the machete but that's just me," John says. "Alright, we're gonna start in a few minutes. Got some last minute setup to do back here."

Cole takes a practice swing with his new weapon, wonders how many infected he’ll have to face. He then begins to think of the situation strategically: should he fight them all at once, or maybe lead a few astray since the room seems to be large enough? But his impromptu tactical analysis is cut short when he hears the moans of hungry infected directly behind the metal door, and shortly after, the door begins to rise, revealing a cage releasing a steady stream of corpses.

Without any hesitation, he brings the hammer back behind his head, then forward, slamming it into the forehead of the first infected he sees. Before it can fully crumple to the ground, Cole brings the spiked end of the hammer up and into the chin of the next one, the force of the blow splitting it’s face completely in half. With the hammer still lodged into its head, he pushes the corpse’s body into the next three infected, toppling them all to the ground. While they’re immobile for a moment, he focuses his assault on what he guesses to be around 7 or 8 infected to his left.

With one hard swing of the hammer towards the group, he’s able to take out the brains of 3 at one time. For the next one, he smashes the spiked end of the hammer into its temple, its head and the hammer slamming into the wall simultaneously and resulting in blood splattering Cole’s front. But the hammer ends up getting lodged into the wall, and Cole mutters a few curses under his breath as he tries to pull it out. But the thing won’t budge.

He feels a hand latch onto his shoulder and, instinctively, he snaps his head back, smashing the infected in the face with the back of his head. And, in one swift motion, he gives one last tug to the handle of the hammer, pulls it out of the wall, and swings around to hit the stumbling infected from before right between the eyes with the blunt end of the hammer.

There’s still around ten infected left, but his heavy breathing and burning lungs signal him he should slow down, at least for a few seconds. So he retreats to an empty corner of the room, catching his breath as he observes the dead in front of him. They're spread out pretty wide throughout the area of the room, so he predicts taking out the rest won't be much trouble. Now more comfortable with his trusty new weapon, he takes his time with further head-smashing, sometimes taking them out one by one, or leading two together for an effective double-kill.

When he kills the last one, he drops the blood covered hammer; it hits the ground with a clang that echoes through the room. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, the pain hits full force. He definitely over-exerted himself, and he clutches his side, the wound irritating him more than ever. Not even a minute passes before the intercom crackles to life again and John is speaking: "Good lord, that was fun to watch! I can only imagine how you feel, man. But you lived, good job. No scratches or bites from what I can tell...Your best bud Jordie's gonna send you over to room 22 now, my favorite. We'll give you a bit of a rest first, though." He calls for Jordie, and the intercom shuts off.

Like clockwork, Jordie is there quickly. He yanks Cole by the arm and leads him out the room, to a metal door a few yards down. "You're pretty good," Jordie says. "Saw the whole thing."

Cole just sighs and doesn't respond as they reach room 22. Jordie gives him no 'good luck' this time and opens the door, where Cole is greeted to a layout nearly identical to the last one, besides there being no wooden door on the left. Jordie leaves and slams the door shut, locking it from the outside once again.

"Level 2!" John shouts from the intercom. "Not really, but yeah. This is the last test, I guess. More of a physical and mental examination. And a little for my entertainment, to be honest. Okay, this one is really fucking straight-forward. Just like the last one, there's something behind that metal door. Well, someone. Better find a way to stay alive. But if you've lived in this world for nearly a year, you should have no problem. I'll give you ten minutes to rest up. You look exhausted, man."

Cole relishes in those ten minutes, lying on his back and rubbing his temples as a form of relaxation. He tries to forget about the fact that, given the way John put it, he'll have to kill a person. In his memory, killing someone isn't that bad; he's done it before, and if he gets out of here he'll probably have to do it again.

"Break time over, bud," John announces ten minutes later. "Better get ready. I got a wild one for you. Think you might know him." With that, Cole gets to his feet as fast as he can, and the familiar metal door begins to rise. As the door ascends, he sees a pair of feet, then legs, then a torso until the person's face comes into view.

It's Toby from the room full of prisoners, wearing the same jumpsuit Cole is, except he looks more insane than before. He glares at Cole with a burning hatred, his eyes wild and frenzied.

"Toby. Holy shit," Cole says.

"So you do know each other. Cool," John says through the intercom. "Only one of you is getting out of there alive. I've got my money on Toby to be honest. Prove me wrong, Cole, prove me wrong." And then the room goes silent.

Cole's eyes shift to Toby, who looks ready to lunge at any moment. Cole puts his hands up in a defensive gesture. "Toby. Listen. They can't make us do anything," Cole says.

"They--they gonna kill us both, you know that?" Toby replies.

"We don't have to--"

"But I need to get outta here! I can be free from this fucking shithole!"

"What? You mean--"

"John's gonna let me out. Yeah. I just gotta get rid of you first, he said. If I do that, he'll let me out.'

"He's lying."

"No. No, he's not. There's only one way to find out."

"Toby! Think for a fucking second! Why would he let you out? There's no good reason, and that's because he's lying to you!"

"What-the-fuck-ever, man! I can see through your shit. So fucking selfish. Only want to save your own ass."

“I’m trying to help you, too!” Cole counters. “He’s lying to you. This is a fucking game to him. He’s not going to let you out of here.”

“I’m useless to him! I’ve been here for months because he doesn’t know what to do with me. Do you know what he does? Even though you’re a Goddamn asshole, I didn’t want to tell you, because whenever I do, they freak the fuck out...John gets this weird high from seeing people in danger. It’s fucked up. He likes to see the lengths people will go just to save themselves. And he uses that to his advantage. He takes people like me and you and he puts them in these different situations. Tests, that’s what he calls them. Uses them to gauge our physical and mental status, but uses them for his entertainment, too. Then, he uses that info and reaches out to people. ‘Cause there’s a demand for people, if you didn’t know. Fucking slaves. He’s preparing us to sell us, all over the Midwest. Men are needed for their physical strength, mostly. And their mental stability. You know what people need women for, don’t even need to explain that to you...You got through the last round, right? Room 18? You’re on the fucking map, now. John’s gonna show that video to all these communities, these assholes that want slaves to do their work, they’re gonna be impressed, and he’s gonna send you off to whoever can provide him with the most food, medicine, water, whatever.

“And then you’ve got me. With my asthma. I’m useless. So I’m here, sitting in a room with all the other useless fuckers until he finds out what to do with me. But he gave me this chance to be free, so I’m gonna take it.”

Slaves. That’s new. Barbaric, but not unbelievable. And still, Toby doesn’t realize John is deceiving him, but he’s reached that point of desperation where it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s out to kill Cole if it means a chance for his release. For anything other than being shackled to a floor, dirty and hungry.

So he shouts and starts toward Cole, not giving Cole another chance to negotiate. Toby makes sure to regard the fact that Cole is nearly 7 inches taller than him; he gives Cole a hard kick to the left knee before he can throw a punch. Then, Toby strikes Cole’s other knee even harder than the last one, forcing Cole to bend down to his level. Toby readies for a strike to Cole’s face, but Cole recuperates quickly and smashes his fist into Toby’s midsection. He then recalls Toby’s foolish mention of his asthma, and punches him in the same area of his body. Toby feels the air from his lungs expelling rapidly and fights to get a few breaths in.

Cole is now in much better shape than Toby is, standing up straight and delivering a punch to Toby’s nose. Toby falls onto his back, and before he can scurry to his feet, Cole sets his boot directly on Toby’s chest. He wheezes, trying desperately for any air he can get, but Cole’s weight prevents it.

“W-wait--no...” Toby chokes out, grabbing at Cole’s ankle in an attempt to remove his leg from his chest. “S-sor--”

But Cole moves his boot to Toby’s throat, removing any possibility of Toby being able to breathe, or speak, as he increases the pressure. Toby’s face soon turns a light pink, then a faint blue, and his wheezing ceases. His grip on Cole’s leg loosens and his hands fall to the floor. His eyes stay wide open but a lifelessness overtakes them. He’s dead, but Cole keeps his foot planted where it is just to make sure.

The wonderful Jordie is back once again to take Cole to a final room, though he isn’t told what it is. Taking in Cole’s expression, Jordie decides against conversation this time and leads him to a room blocked by double doors. Opening it reveals another group of prisoners, different from the last, all dressed in brown jumpsuits. “You can join in with these guys now,” Jordie says. “That’s what John tells me.”

Cole is pushed into the room and the double doors are locked after Jordie leaves. This group is larger and more unfriendly than the last. Their faces are even more solemn and they don’t attempt to start conversation. Or even learn his name. Cole sits in a cramped corner next to a snoring man and waits for whatever should happen next. But there’s no time to relax as someone calls his name.

“Cole?” says a voice that makes Cole second guess if he’s sane or not. Cole opens his eyes and turns his head to the other side of the room, to where the voice is coming from. And he’s staring into the face of Luke Evans.

“Holy--is that you? That’s you, right?” Luke says and he walks over stray hands and feet to get to Cole’s side.

“Wait. What?” Cole says with absolute disbelief. He even blinks a few times, just to make sure. But Luke sits next to him, a similar look of astonishment on his face, too.

“Fucking Luke? Dude, I thought you were dead.”

“No, I--I’m here. Surprisingly. I didn’t expect myself to last this long, either.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. We--I thought you were dead. You and your parents. We saw the house, and it was--”

“You saw the house?”

“Yeah--it was months ago. A really long time ago,” Cole says. “There was this ‘safe-zone’ at O’Hare we made it to, they had helicopters and shit, so Billie--you remember her, yeah?”

“Of course, yeah.”

“Yeah, she and my buddy Adam went back for you guys when we got there. In one of the helicopters. But the place was overrun. We saw the car still there and we assumed--we assumed the worst, man. It feels like a fucking lifetime ago...I’m scared to ask, but what about your mom and dad?”

Luke shakes his head solemnly. “No,” he says. “Didn’t even make it out of the house. My dad tried to save my mom--I told him not to, but he went back for her anyway and never came out. I had to just...I had to go. I couldn’t do anything.”

Cole swallows hard. “I’m sorry. That’s just--that’s terrible.”

“What about you?” Luke asks, changing the subject. “You were staying at a motel, right?”

“Yeah, we were. Only three of us left.”

“Three? Shit.”

“Me, Billie, and Adam. Airport didn’t work out, so we’re staying at this hotel now. Well, they are, but I’m trapped in this fucking place.”

“Been here for three days...” Luke mutters. “Caught me on the road. They put you in room 18 and 22?”

Cole nods. “You never really know what you’ll do until you have to survive, you know?” Luke says.

Cole couldn’t agree more, but he stays silent, trying to take in the sheer unbelievability of this entire situation. He tries to think of what he could say now, but nothing really seems sufficient, until he realizes he’s never fully expressed his gratitude for the Evans family’s good deeds all those months ago. “I never really said a proper thank you for what you and your parents did for us.”

“Forget about it. Just good to see you’re still doing okay. How is she, by the way? Billie?” Luke asks out of curiosity.

“She’s good. She’s had her rough patches, like anyone else. But she’s pretty much the same girl that you met.”

“That’s pretty cool. And--a boyfriend? Does she have one?”

Cole manages a grin and shakes his head. “Nope.”

“That’s cool, too. I guess. I really need to get out of here, then. Take me back to that hotel.”

Luke meant it as a joke, but Cole’s expression turns serious. “You want to?” Cole whispers.

“Uh...we can’t,” Luke says. “That’s a problem.”

“Fuck that. We can try.”

“We could, that’s true. But they’ll kill us. Obviously.”

“If we get out of here, I’ll take you back to the hotel. It’s the Hyatt. We’ve got beds, we’ve got food, we’ve got water. And if we fail, they’ll kill us. Okay. That’s better than being a Goddamn slave,” he whispers harshly. “And look, man, I can only imagine the look on Billie’s face if she got to see you.”

“You’ve got a plan, or are you just talking out of your ass?”

“No plan. Yet. You’ve been here for three days, you said? Then we might have time to come up with one. Please. I know you want to get out of here, and so do I.”

“You’re crazy. Crazy as fuck. But okay.”