Chapter 110

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ARIA

Day 27: May 5th, Wednesday
The Fall of Albany


The seats were filling up fast.

Aria tried to buckle into her seat, but the belt was broken. Perhaps she wore it wrong, but the seams had been ripped apart, the latch around the buckle creaking weirdly. She tried to call one of the soldiers for help, but he ignored her, making a beeline to join his team in holding the mob back.

"We should leave now! Just leave the lot of them!" An older man in his late fifties cried across from her, fidgeting in his seat. Aria could distinctly recognize his Scottish accent.

The older man grabbed one of the soldiers passing by and screamed at his face, but the soldier merely pushed him back on the seat, spitting a curse she couldn't quite hear. The man wore an expensive-looking suit, Rolex watch around his wrist, and it seemed he had never fought his way to get here, his clothes unmarked by blood and dirt, unlike Aria. Unlike the rest of the people in the helicopter pleading for the pilots to abandon the rest. Beside him, his wife, blonde hair and with surgically enhanced nose and lips, who looked closer to Aria's age, wore a pristine white pantsuit with emerald earrings and silver emerald bracelets. On her lap was a little Yorkie with a tiny pink ribbon on her head, barking at the commotion.

Aria desperately tried to look for Yousef and the others. Some of them must have slipped between the crowd and had gone on board! But there were only twelve people in the helicopter aside from her, and none she recognized. She tried to call out for them, but her voice was lost through the furor.

"I said stay the fuck back, or I'll shoot!"

The captain fired warning shots into the air, but it did not deter them at all. The crowd pushed onward, pulling the captain down into the sea of bodies tangled beneath their feet in crunched bones and blood. More gunfire erupted; the soldiers were firing at the crowd. Bodies fell, and Aria looked away, holding tight onto the seatbelt, trying to block the screams of the dying.

"We should go now!" One of the soldiers cried out.

But there are too many seats left unoccupied, Aria thought. We can't just leave all of them!

A few got past the line of soldiers, two burly men shoving and tackling anyone on their way. The bigger of the two ripped the seat belt off the Scottish man's seat and threw him down the ramp. His wife screamed and went after him, the Yorkie still in her arms. The burly man turned, and he and Aria shared a knowing, grim look. He came for her, but all she could do was hold on to the straps with the seatbelt broken. The man was stronger, dragged her by the arm, and threw her down the ramp like a sack of nothing, and she rolled down to the clamoring mob. The last thing she saw inside was the burly man guiding a woman and three children—probably his family—get into the helicopter and helped them into her now empty seat.

I am going to die here! Aria panicked. Feet stomped from behind, just inches away from her face. She had to get up before these people stepped on her. She crawled, panting, sweating, trying to keep her head down against the gunfire and the screams. She tried to find the stairs off the helicopter pad, but it was too dark and chaotic, the crowd blocking the red-orange pathway lights illuminating the landing area. Then, all of a sudden, the wind picked up. The maniacal whine of the helicopter blades gearing up for take-off reverberated across the landing pad, and the people's cries swelled.

Don't leave me! Aria wanted to scream, but she was exhausted, still desperate to get away from the crowd pressing like boulders against her chest and back, and she could hardly breathe.

I have to find the others, Aria thought. But, unfortunately, it was too late to grab hold of the ramps, which slowly rose shut. Still, people were hanging on by the edge, their fingers squashed by the shutters, severing and tearing their hands loose. One girl fell in front of Aria, face frozen in excruciating agony, her right hand mangled and mutilated by the crushing force.

Suddenly, a searing light, and she could finally see her path to the stairs. People were screaming against her ears, running madly from all corners, and curious, she looked up to find the source. Two helicopters were engulfed in flames up in the air, raining down debris over the landing pad and the rooftop. Aria gaped at the horror from the sky, pulled out of her own thoughts when one of the blades swung down and decapitated two women.

Then, the vectors came down with the crash, falling on top of people still standing on the landing pad, and started tearing into their flesh; their horrible screeches emanated across the rooftop. Everyone was running for the stairs in a panic.

"Let me through!" Someone grabbed her hair and pushed her aside. She caught sight of the Scottish man and his wife shoving anyone in their way toward the stairs.

Aria lost her balance, screaming until she went over the edge. She tried to hold onto anything, but there was nothing there aside from other people falling off the ledge, no guard rails to stop her fall. For a second, air engulfed her body, flailing to prevent any impact that might damage her limbs, but she pulled her arms around her head instead to protect her skull. Then, suddenly, her back smashed against something soft and taut, bouncing off like a trampoline, and she ended up falling into the bushes. Dizzy, she looked up to find the parasol started keeling over toward her, but it wedged against the thicket, stopping mere inches off her face.

She found the rooftop access door was no longer barricaded by the awnings, collapsable tables, and lounge chairs—a clear path through. The surviving soldiers desperately tried to carve a path toward the door, pushing back some of the barricades to the side, but a few of the vectors had reached them.

The Scottish man and his wife pushed the soldiers aside and managed to open the door before two vectors launched themselves on their backs and took them down, screaming. She didn't even think about it and sprinted off, focused on the open doorway, imagining herself as a cheetah. She ignored how close a vector got to pull on her shirt, or that bullets wheezed over her head by millimeters, or that she had caught the attention of three more vectors to her right. The Scottish man was already dead, but his wife was still alive when she reached the door, pleading for help; the dog was gone from her grasp.

The woman grabbed her ankle when she passed. "Help me, you stupid bitch! Help me!" She screeched as the vectors pummeled her face with their fists, her left eye gouged out.

Aria wiggled out of her weak grip and continued running, drowning out her rattling screams.

The stairwell was dark, but she didn't hesitate to rush into the gloom; the flickering emergency lights her only guide down the stairs. She couldn't think about what would wait for her below, but all she knew was that a growing horde of infected was building above her. Dozens of footsteps followed her wake, and she didn't dare turn around to see how many of them were on her heels.

Yousef, Logan...if you guys are still alive, please don't leave me! Aria thought.

The further she went down, the thicker the smoke became. She covered her nose and mouth with her arms, fighting back the tears welling up in her eyes as the smoke got into them. The stairwell grew twenty degrees warmer.

"No!" Aria cried out.

The stairs were gone, ripped out of the walls like clay. Some of the debris was still on fire. The next landing was three stories down, and Aria had no intention of jumping off and breaking her legs. The vectors' death cries were getting closer.

Aria kicked an emergency door to her right and ran into the hallway; the loud swing against the hinges caught the attention of the vectors waiting therein.

She was surrounded.

She burst into the nearest room without thinking, locking the door behind her a second before the vectors pounded against the wood. She dragged a dresser against the door and started putting the armchairs, the coffee table, and the large flat-screen TV on top, hoping the combined weight was enough to hold them back.

There was no way in or out aside from the door and the balcony. It would only be a matter of time before the fires below reached up to her floor. Death by vectors, by fire, or by a high fall, there were many worse ways to go.

Aria chose the balcony.


——


BREN

Day 92: July 9th, Friday
Harrisburg Safe Zone


The soldiers didn't call it the "fuck tent" for nothing. In here, the smell of sex and sweat was prevalent, with used condoms filling up a metal bucket from the side; two bottles of lube and tissues hang inside a plastic bag by the pole with a note that said FREE TO USE. Around three cots on each side had sleeping bags, blankets, pillows bundled and strewn up, a small laundry basket on the side where all the used sheets and rags were waiting for pick-up.

Aside from those nasty things, it was also the best place I could speak to Aria alone.

I sat on a rickety stool while Aria sat on the bed across from me, a slight tremble in her hand as she recounted the story of how she got out of Albany. Aria had asked the two girls in there for some privacy, to which they happily complied. Peter gave an excuse to the other soldiers for "trying out" the goods with me. I ignored Garcia's orders that I had to clean one of the outhouses that were grosser than a pigsty, though I got Haskell and another grunt to do that. I made a note that I owe Haskell a lot for that one.

Peter insisted on staying close. So now, he was our lookout for any curious soldiers that happened to pass by.

"I used the bedsheets to rappel down the side of the building," Aria said, her voice slightly quivering. She took a sip of water and put it back on the table. "There was this little indoor garden attached to the hotel, an arboretum, and it was only a few floors off. But the rope I made only went down to three floors, so I had to jump at quite a height. Luckily, the roof didn't break." She paused. "A lot of people jumped. I guess I was lucky no one landed on the roof, or else I'd fall in, too. There's a lot of vectors waiting below, inside the garden."

"How long were you up there?" I asked.

Aria took a moment to speak. "I must have stayed up there until morning, I think? Then, finally, I found a hatch that put me back to the alley, but by the time I was there, our vehicles were gone, everyone was gone, and vectors filled up every street. I assumed you all died. Eventually, I found a CRA blockade in one of the northern neighborhoods still left standing, and I stayed there until the military evacuation was called."

"It must be one hell of a story to find you here of all places."

"How's that for being poetic? I can ask you the same thing!" Aria chuckled. "But that's kind of a long story. To make it short, three caravans went out of Albany to escort the civilians with the surviving army. One was to go to Syracuse, one to Pittsburgh, and to Scranton. I was to join the latter before they firebombed Albany. But when we got wind that Scranton had a major outbreak, we diverted for Harrisburg instead." A distant stare. "We lost a lot of people."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "It's a long time ago."

It was three months ago, but I didn't press that further. It was clear she was uncomfortable. After all, we had our traumas in this fucked up world.

"Is Yousef still..." Aria started.

"Yes."

A hint of a smile. "Oh. That's...good. That's great. And Logan?"

"Alive, too. In fact, they're out there with the others."

"None of the girls are allowed outside the walls."

I frowned. "Did they do—"

"No." Aria sat straighter with a gaze that challenged my words. I held my tongue. "I—some of the girls do. But not me. Captain Drucker thinks I'm too young for that. I mean, I'm the youngest among the girls here."

I slowly nodded. "May I ask how many girls there are?"

Aria looked past my shoulder to Peter, unsure whether to answer. I didn't turn around to see Peter's reaction. "Don't worry," I said. "Peter's with me. He's been with us far longer, surviving out there for months."

"Okay." Aria cleared her throat. "There's six, including me. There's another girl my age, and the captain doesn't let her do these...things...either. We just washed everyone's uniforms, tidy up the camp, help the cook, and clean and burn the dead vectors, but we haven't done that in a while."

"Okay. But are they treating you okay?"

"I mean, there are some soldiers who skirt the rules around here, but I have enough excuses around my belt to throw at them. Men are stupid like that. Other than that..." Aria lowered her gaze. "I'm doing fine, Bren. I can protect myself."

"You're not safe here."

"You don't think I don't know that? I'm here because that's what expected of me."

"What do you mean?"

Aria fidgeted on the bed. "There are a few people I had grown close to within the safe zone. They helped me a lot, but...you see...I met this nice woman named Alison who took me in after Albany. She's a tough woman, Bren, but her daughter has diabetes. Type 1, so she needs insulin. You know how important medicine is now these days. The only way I could get it is if Captain Drucker can ensure that Alison receives it from the med center regularly. We exchange letters every three days, and they're doing fine now. A lot of girls here have similar stories." A nervous chuckle. "I mean, Alison didn't even like that I'm doing this for her—"

"So you came with the captain."

Aria's brows furrowed. "Don't you dare judge me."

"I'm not judging. These are tough times, and besides, I've judged you for far worse."

Aria thinned her lips. I didn't let it slip that I knew our past was muddled and complicated. "Well...yeah." Her gaze flicked back to Peter, who pretended like he didn't notice.

"You followed him here?" I asked.

"Like I have a choice? His unit got assigned here, so I have to come with. But I'm a minor, so he let me do manual labor and other odd jobs around camp."

"For now."

Aria stayed quiet. It was clear she was thinking the same thing.

Peter tapped me on the shoulder. "We have to go now, Bren. I see Berry and Donahue are moving about. They might start asking questions."

I nodded. "Hold on. I need to ask Aria an important question before we go," I said, holding her gaze.

"About what?"

"I need to know how many men are inside."

There was stillness in the air, and I could tell Aria held her breath momentarily. Then, finally, she cleared her throat and ran her fingers through her hair, avoiding my gaze. I held my expression seriously, letting her know I wasn't going to leave without an answer.

Aria sighed. "There's fifty of them stationed here, but since Captain Drucker left to meet his superiors in one of the scattered safe zones, he took eight men with him as an escort."

That makes it forty-two—too many for my taste. Still, I didn't let my facade slip or show that I was intimidated by the high number. "Thank you," I said and got up.

Aria suddenly grabbed my wrist before I left. "What are you planning? Are we going to get hurt?"

"As long as you and the girls stay quiet and stay low tonight, then no. Can you keep that secret?"

Aria thought about it for a moment.

I leaned closer. "Can I count on you? Can the guys out there count on you? I can get you and the girls out of here."

"What about Alison and her kids? My other friends in the safe zone?"

"Aria, my uncle is General Clemons, one of the leaders tasked with the Delaware Campaign. If we meet with him again, I can get you that insulin and then some."

That did it. She met my eyes again. "Then we'll go home?"

I knew what she meant. She was probably hoping for that the moment she laid eyes on me. Here we were from her past, surviving, making our way into the city and out across the river, moving west. It wouldn't take a mathematician to draw the lines together. West was home. West was safety. West was far away from whatever hellhole she's living in now.

"Yes," I said.

"Okay." Aria smiled. "I'm looking forward to seeing Yousef and Logan again."

"I'm sure they'd be surprised to see you as well."

"I'll tell the girls to stay low."

"You do that."

"But Bren...whatever you're doing...stay alive."

I sighed. "I'm counting on it."


——


LOGAN


Logan wiped the sweat off his brows and leaned against the balcony's rails. He had been watching the same street where Bren and the others had gone to, and still, they hadn't come home yet. He looked at his watch, which struck past eight in the evening; the sun slowly descending above the rooftops, sucking out the sweltering heat hours ago—it was finally starting to cool down.

Not long now, he thought. Whatever Bren was planning, it would come soon. Of course, Logan couldn't wait until nightfall, but an hour seemed to stretch out for days, and here he was, splayed like a beached whale in need of seawater. And god knows what they're fucking doing in there? Are they dead? Will the other soldiers come for us? The thought didn't make him feel any better.

Indy made a little whine, lying on his side by Logan's right foot, doing that cute dog thing where they pretend like they weren't looking at you. His wagging tail told Logan he enjoyed being had.

"I hear you, bud," Logan said. "I'm bored too, but we gotta do what the boss man said, which is to stay put, you hear?"

Indy's tail kept wagging. He wanted to go for a walk, his nose barely sticking out of the rails, pointing out to the driveway. He let out a soft snort as if saying he really, really wanted that fucking walk, please, and could Logan take him? He'll be a good boy, he swears!

Logan sighed. "Maybe food and kibbles will change your mind." Indy's tail stopped wagging, and his ears perked upward. Logan laughed. "Oh? Is that it, huh? I can just bribe you with that?" Indy sat up, licked the side of his face once as he did those sad, puppy-dog eyes. He let out a cute little puff. "Indy, you'll make a poor guard dog one day, you know. How am I going to impress the others with the skills and tricks I taught you?"

Another puff, his tail fervently wagging.

"Bah! You're hopeless. Come on. Let's get you your second dinner, Oliver Twist."

Logan walked out of the balcony and into the master suite. He glanced sadly at the non-working air conditioner, willing it to work so that he could get out of the heat. But he had no genie in the bottle to grant him that sort of wish. I might as well wish for rain. Sighing, he went out of the suite and took the stairs, passing by two frat boys coming up. They looked like in their early twenties.

"Hey, Logan." One of two nod his head, about Logan's height with short blonde hair and blue eyes. "It's getting dark soon, huh?" His accent had a distinct pluck and twitch to his Rs and inflections.

"Oh...hey...um..."

"Magnus." The guy introduced himself. "Magnus Badenhorst."

"Logan Hardy."

"I know. I mean—sorry—we talk a lot about

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