ThirtyFive - Ella

When the person who had come upstairs and discovered the body in my room finally pushed open the door of the room where I hid, I was almost relieved. There was something about the anticipation, the waiting, that made sitting there in the dark so awful that seeing his not so intimidatingly tall figure standing in front of the open door eased my nerves just the slightest bit.

He had to know we, at least one of us, was in here after the other rooms had turned up empty. Maybe because of this he was taking his time. He didn't barge into the room, guns swinging. He pushed open the door slowly, as though he thought we were waiting on the other side to pounce. When it was fully open and no one attacked, he took a timid step into the room, stopping to look in all directions for any possible assailants.

It was almost funny that he, who had entered this place with nefarious intentions, would be nervous as though we were the boogeymen after him.

He shone his flashlight into the room, the light passed over me but didn't stop. He didn't see me. Maybe it was nerves, maybe he was just an idiot. His sweep of the room seemed to convince him that if anyone was in here they were hiding better than I was and he began to move toward the closet.

No.

That was not the plan. He was supposed to have seen me.

Having been overlooked, I wanted to stay hidden. It would have been easy enough to do so.

Instead of giving into my desire to remain safe and alive, I shifted. I reached up to the end table and felt around for what was on top. When my fingers touched something with considerable enough weight to it, I slid it over the edge. With a thud, it landed on the carpet next to me and I didn't have to pretend to be afraid when the man whirled around, his flashlight on me like a spotlight.

"Please." Don't kill me, I thought though I only managed to utter the single word. I raised my hand in the air so he would know I had no weapons, no way of defending myself. I didn't think it mattered to these people one bit, but I hoped the sympathy card would at least get me safe enough to think straight and stay alive until I could come up with something better. He stared at me for a long time though I couldn't see his face for the light shining in mine. Please don't let there be blood on my hands. The literal kind, figuratively speaking my hands were soaked.

"Stand up," he barked, he sounded younger than I expected and more nervous too though he was doing his best not to show it.

I think he was aiming a gun at me, but I wasn't sure. Shaking, I stood, keeping my hands high.

He walked across the room, heavy footfalls, toward me. When he grabbed my arm, I yelped half in surprise, half in pain at how rough he'd been as he yanked me closer and spun me around. Horrible thoughts, my greatest fears, began to fill my mind now that I was powerless to this man. I held no upper hand.

His hands patted over my body but seemingly only to search for weapons and some of my fear evaporated.

"Where're the others?" he demanded.

"W-we were running... low on water."

And I noticed his hand trembling around my arm. In the back of my mind, that struck me as odd. This - manhandling, threatening - it wasn't something he was used to or comfortable with, I thought. Speaking to him was easier, then. When I thought he probably didn't want to kill me as much as I didn't want to be killed.

"They left you all alone here?"

Up close, I could see the way his eyes narrowed in confusion as much as mistrust. I was quick to shake my head. If I said I was left alone here he'd either know I killed his friend or think I was lying and search the rest of the room.

"Two stayed behind with me," I said when I found my voice. "In the other room or downstairs, I-I was sleeping. Did you... did you k-kill them?"

He kept his eyes on me for a long time, evaluating my answer for the truth. Maybe I was a better liar than I thought, or he was a bigger fool, but he believed me. At least enough to not kill me. He gripped tightly around my tender arm and dragged me out of the room.

"There are two outside," he announced pulling me down the stairs. He spoke now, deeper and confident. All puffed up and manly in a way that made me think he was trying to prove himself to these people. That was enough to make my nerves spike. "I got a third here but we'll just have to wait for the others to return."

I stumbled to keep up with the guy so that I didn't end up falling down the stairs. He pushed into the living room where three men and a woman waited. Had they only come with six, I wondered, or were more nearby? One, who had been sitting on the couch stood up. I didn't recognize him until he spoke, his voice grating on my ears.

"I see you made it off my cross," he said, chuckling as he walked to me. "You're having a stroke of bad luck, I guess."

I bit down on my bottom lip to keep it from quivering. Any semblance of bravery was gone at the realization that this was man who I'd heard giving orders as barbed wire was roped around my arms and waist.

"Who got you down?"

I assumed it was a rhetorical question. I doubted he cared much for the names.

"They got the big guy down too. How many of you?" I stayed quiet. "Six bags... at least six of you." He turned to his people. "Jane. Lance. Get out there with Sammy. We're looking for two runners and at least three to return."

I took that to mean that they only brought seven with them. Six now. The girl and another guy nodded and followed orders out the front door.

"Where are the others?"

The question wasn't directed at me.

"Out to find water and food, she said," the man who had brought me downstairs answered.

This man wasn't so quick to believe the statement. He looked at me and then at the guy standing to my left but no longer gripping on to me. The laughter that followed this inspection set me further on edge. I braced as his raised his hand whipping it toward me.

Except it wasn't me that he hit.

The man who had dragged me downstairs collapsed from the hit, too surprised to have braced himself.

"You think those assholes are on a supply run, son?" He barked. "Without their fucking bags."

My own brow pulled together and my gaze followed to where he'd gestured. Just as he said, the pile of bags sat on the floor left behind. That didn't make sense. Hunter hadn't said they'd gone for supplies, but I'd assumed... why else would they leave? The only thing that made sense was that they'd gone to look for water. But they wouldn't have gone without at least a backpack - but both of those were in the pile too.

"Pick yourself up off the floor, son. Now," he turned his attention back to me and I stepped back, trying to keep space between us. His hand grabbed my forearm causing my to cringe as his fingers dug into wounds from the barbed wire that were still raw and only in the early stages of healing. "Why don't you tell me where your friends are."

"I don't know," the words came out in a stuttered mess from my lips.

"I believe you." His lips drew into a cruel smile as he ushered me to the couch and forced me to sit. "Don't look so scared," he said plopping down on the chair across from me. "We're not going to hurt you just yet."

"When they come back, they'll kill you."

I don't know what provoked me to say such a thing. I had faith in the men that had gotten me this far. Even if they killed me now, I doubted they would survive the night.

"They'll try," he nodded, "They'll fail." He leaned back, entirely relaxed. "Military, right?" He gestured with a hand toward the bags. "Bags gave it away. Military has come in, tried to take what's mine before. They failed too."

"We aren't here to take what's yours."

Ignoring me, he leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. His dark eyes calculating.

"What I can't figure out is you. Clearly you aren't military, didn't even have the common sense to hide or run. Not much of a fighter either. How did a girl like you end up with this group?"

He didn't expect me to answer the question, he was just thinking out loud more than anything. But this was my window. I hadn't been completely without a plan when I told Hunter and Zero to hide and now was my chance.

"They came as my... body guards."

He laughed then like the answer was outrageous even though it was the truth.

"I'm not lying. You see that bag?" I nodded toward the bag still sitting on the coffee table, thankful they hadn't messed with our things too much. My voice was still shaking a little, but I was impressed with how confident I sounded. "There's a cure in it."

Well, there was potential for a cure in it, anyway.

"We came for the cure. To get it back to our base and replicated for distribution."

"Bullshit."

"My dad created the virus. Of course he created and a kept a cure here. That's all we came for—this was his house." He looked at the small bag that held the virus. I didn't know if he bought what I was saying or not, but he was at least considering that I was telling him the truth. "Please. Let us get back to our base. When the cure is processed for distribution, we'll bring it back for you."

"A cure?" He was skeptical.

I nodded carefully. "Like a vaccine, more. It'll stop the spread."

"How many in there?"

"Not enough for you and all your men."

"How many."

"There may be enough for twenty-twenty-five."

The three bottles held what would amount to a few doses each of the virus.

My plan had been to explain and hope he'd let us go without further issue. I knew we would keep our word and get his people a cure when we could, we would get it to everyone. There couldn't be discrimination between good and bad people, it was about saving all of humanity.

"Let's try it out," he said finally, challenging me — attempting to call my bluff. I was bluffing.

"This hasn't been tested on people," I explained trying to sway him away. I wasn't about to tell him I didn't actually have a cure, just the virus. And now that he was considering trying it out, maybe it wasn't a terrible idea to just let him. I knew the pure virus worked fast, faster than the bites. My dad was severely ill within an hour or two. Maybe even sooner than that. Things injected directly into the bloodstream have a habit of working quickly. My father may have begun to show symptoms within minutes, I wouldn't know for sure unless the answers were somewhere in the journal I'd yet to read.

"You can be the first."

Me? My eyes grew wide as he pushed up from the seat and grabbed the medical bag that held the virus in it.

"You think we should be doing this? Lawrence is going to want to know about this."

He turned to the guy who'd spoken, the one who dragged me downstairs.

"You think I give two shits what Lawrence wants, boy?" He grinned then. "If I finally got one up on that prick, you sure as hell aren't going to ruin it for me. Understood?"

I certainly wasn't going to interrupt their argument. I was still trying to figure out how to get out of injecting the virus into myself. The longer they argued, the more longer I had to come up with another plan.

But there wasn't really another plan.

Telling them it was the virus and not a cure would do me no good at this point. I was pretty sure they'd still want me to shoot myself up with the stuff. They had, after all, tied me with barbed wire to a wooden cross.

The guy — really, a boy now that I could get a better look at him, kind of tall and gangly as if he hadn't filled out and broadened yet and his forehead and cheeks were broken out. I would have been surprised if he was eighteen - backed down quickly to the man calling the shots. The attention was back on me.

"How will you know if it works?" He asked as the older man grabbed up the bag and pulled out one of the small bottles and the syringe.

"We'll let one of them bit her. She lives, it works. She doesn't... at least it wasn't one of us."

Or I would, you know, just turn into a zombie before any of that happened.

"But you don't have anything to be scared of. It's a cure right, a little bite won't be anything," he said closing in on me with a cruel smile. I was sure he wanted it to work because he wanted to keep if for himself, but I was also sure he looked forward to me suffering. The idea of throwing me in a room with a zombie excited him.

"If you take this, we'll never stop it. You'll be cured but we'll never beat the zombies. Don't you want civilization back?"

"Humanity was never good to me," he said. He filled up the syringe with a much larger dose than a person my size - or even his - would need. "Most of them are only getting what they deserve. Now," he paused. "Where do I stick this?"

"I can do it," I said quickly, disturbed by how much pleasure he seemed to get from the idea of sticking the needle into me.

"You don't have anything to be scared of— what's your name?"

"Ella."

"Pretty name," he said. "Ella. It's just a cure, right? Why do you look so scared?"

"It's not safe yet," I argued the truth. "It needs to be tested."

Briefly, I looked to the stairs. It would have been an excellent time for Hunter to appear and start kicking ass. But he didn't. Even a heroic guy like him knew when he couldn't win a fight. And this one, three guys with loaded weapons against him with one knife, wasn't one he would win.

I looked at the guy who grabbed me and dragged me downstairs. He'd looked scared upstairs and he looked scared now, but he kept his mouth shut. Next to me sat a guy who'd been here since I'd been dragged down stairs and yet, not said a word. Clearly, they both deferred to this man. Silently, I pleaded with them. Maybe they weren't so bad. Maybe they'd gotten mixed up with the wrong people and were just surviving. Doing their best. The one who'd dragged me into this held my gaze, I could see the pity in his eyes but he rolled his lips into his mouth and cast his gaze downward. The man next to me wouldn't even meet my eye.

"It's not too late," I said to the room. Praying someone, one of the would really hear me. "You can still make a choice to do something good."

I scooted back and lifted my butt up so that I was sitting on the back of the couch. I swung my feet over and stood, feeling a little better with some space between us.

"I don't want to have to hurt you."

I did not believe him. I scooted further away.

"Aiden. David," he barked. "Hold her."

They both moved from where they'd been. I darted, but there wasn't much behind the couch. There was nowhere to go. I was cornered. Aiden was smaller, more timid. I knew he was strong and rough - he'd dragged me out of the room an down the stairs - but I thought I could get by him. So made a run for it. I tried to dodge into the space between the where he stood and the wall. If I could have gotten by, I'd be in a position to make a run through the kitchen and out the back door. At least I'd have a fighting chance of hiding out there.

He moved quicker than I anticipated, or maybe I moved slower, and his arm caught around my waist. My feet were off the ground then, as he lost balance and nearly toppled from my momentum trying to get away from him.

"You don't have to do this." I said still struggling to get away. "Please."

His hand loosened.

Something happened outside. A shot went off, quickly followed by yelling though I couldn't distinguish if I knew the voices or not, or what they were saying. The man stopped to listen and then speak with David, giving orders to him. I took advantage of his momentary distraction.

"There are good people - better people left," I whispered hurriedly. "You don't have to stay here."

I looked up at him and could see that I was getting through.

"They'll kill me," he said.

"My people will keep you safe." I whispered.

His forehead wrinkled as he fought indecision and I was sure he was chewing the inside of his cheeks.

"Get over here, boy."

My head snapped toward the man.

I didn't know if this kid was on my side or not. He didn't give his decision away and I honestly didn't know that he'd even made one.

But my time was up.