“I’m trying not to think about that. I want to feel like me. I want to feel normal.”
“There’s no normal anymore. Not for any of us.”
Now that the dizzy spell and flush of heat had passed, Rachel was cold, and she drew the comforter higher up her shoulders. “I need to move closer to the fire.”
Campbell dragged some cushions from the other chairs and arranged them on the floor near the hearth. He left the room and returned shortly with a stack of blankets which he proceeded to spread out in a makeshift bed. Then he helped Rachel off the sofa until she was bundled and shivering, trying not to cry in front of him. She was way more scared than she wanted to admit.
He sat beside her and rested a tentative hand on the blankets. “Don’t freak out,” he said. “I’m not coming on to you or anything.”
“Why not? Afraid you’ll get Zap cooties?”
“No, I just want you to know you’re not alone.”
“Right, because now I’m your pet project. Now I have some value. If you can get me to a lab somewhere, maybe the Army scientists can crack open my skull and see what makes a Zaphead tick.”
“No,” Campbell said, stroking his hand slowly back and forth along her body. “Not because you’re a Zaphead. But because you’re Rachel.”
She couldn’t help laughing despite her fear. “You’re so dorky.”
“Schoolboy crushes do that to me.”
“What if I turn full Zap in the night and mutilate you?”
“I’ll take my chances.”
The crackling of the fire almost seemed like mirthful giggles, building inside her head, but Rachel didn’t fight them. Instead, she followed them deep inside her head until at some point they became soft echoes that faded until she was able to sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Okay, I’ve already burned through Plan A and Plan B. Maybe I should just skip straight to Z.
DeVontay didn’t see any way to make it back to the slaughterhouse without being spotted by the Zapheads. Even if he crept along the fence line, at some point he’d have to cross to the loading dock. The only option was to hope they left the compound again before the children gave away their location. But he wasn’t sure Kiki and the others could stay quiet and wait for him if he was gone for hours. The Zapheads could be here all night—or even longer—as far as he knew.
A small group of them surrounded the fallen corpse and gathered it up, hoisting it aloft and heading back toward the gate. The others scattered around the compound, and DeVontay wondered whether they were collecting more bodies. He could almost understand them gathering their own dead—since they seemed to have some sort of telepathic link, or at least a hive consciousness—but he didn’t know why they’d want the human corpses.
If only he had some way to communicate with Kiki, a two-way radio or something, he could create a diversion by running through the gate and leading the Zapheads away. Then he could easily lose them in the forest and work his way back later. But with the group waiting for his return, he would have to reach them before the Zapheads got there.
Then he remembered Stephen telling him about his and Rachel’s escape, and how they’d accidentally set the gas station on fire. Stephen said the Zapheads had not only been drawn by the explosion and the flames, they actually begun hurling themselves into the fire. Stephen had related the tale with a mixture of glee and revulsion, the image of the scorched flesh leaving a strong imprint on him.
DeVontay pulled a musty sheet from one of the bunks and quietly rent it into several long strips. By the time he returned to the door, the Zapheads were out of sight. They’d been making a high-pitched keening noise, like insects, but now they were either silent or else their sounds had so easily blended in with the night’s that he couldn’t track their location.
Slipping through the door, he retraced his route along the fence line until he was again beside the fuel tank. The tank contained diesel, judging by its heavier aroma, so it wouldn’t create a spectacular explosion. But it would burn.
He rubbed one of the strips of cloth along the leaky bottom of the tank until it was soaked, and then repeated it with the other strips. Then he flipped open the tank lid so oxygen would feed the flames. The flap to the gas tank on the bus was locked, so he climbed under the vehicle and wound a fuel-sodden cloth around the tank hose a few times, then tied all the strips together until he had one long fuse connecting the diesel and gas tanks. Since the diesel was relatively slow-burning, he’d have plenty of time to get away.
Checking the compound one last time, he lit the center of the makeshift fuse and hurried back along the fence line to the shed. He could see the bright guttering flame of the fuse as it expanded in both directions. He slipped inside the shed, collected the bundle of food, and sped toward the loading dock.
Three Zapheads came out of the shadows toward him.
They didn’t hurry and they made no noise other than their high, sibilant squeaking. DeVontay considered dropping the bundle and heading in the other direction, but if he fled now, he doubted he’d be able to make his way back to the slaughterhouse. He heard a whoof and the diesel tank caught fire, yellow and red licking over the metal as if seeking a way inside. It wasn’t a pyrotechnical marvel, but it drew the attention of the Zapheads, and as they walked toward DeVontay, he saw the fire reflected in their eyes.
The Zaphead in the center was a male wearing only cargo shorts and hiking boots, apparently impervious to the night’s autumnal chill. Beside him was an older woman in a filthy skirt, the frailty of her human years apparently erased in this new condition of existence. On the other flank, a black woman walked with her head tilted back, her scuffed platform shoes causing her body to roll with each step.
DeVontay’s grip tightened on the bundle and he wondered if it would make an effective weapon if he swung it. He could also try just barreling through them like a fullback attempting to break through a defensive line near the end zone. But for the same reason he’d deliberately set down his shotgun earlier, he intended to avoid violence if possible.
If you fight, they win. He stood his ground, watching and waiting, as they came forward.
When they were ten feet away, he braced, but they weren’t reaching for him. Instead, their gazes were fixed at a point beyond him. It was almost as if he was invisible to them.
He shifted several trembling steps to the left, so that he was out of their direct route. He could smell them now, an aroma of sweat and ozone, and the fire glinted against their oily skin. His heart galloped and thudded against his rib cage, but he forced himself not to panic. Then they moved past him just as the flames roared up the side of the bus, the gas tank finally igniting.
DeVontay felt the rush of wind at his back as the flash illuminated the entire compound. Now he could see the silhouettes of other Zapheads, hurrying toward the source of the roaring pyre. He walked quickly but didn’t break stride, hoping to draw as little attention as possible. Once he reached the loading dock, he gave a long look back and saw the Zapheads were gathered around the burning hulk of the bus. They kept a small distance from the fire, clearly held rapt by its destructive beauty but unwilling to test that destruction themselves.
DeVontay jogged the rest of the way to the loading bay, calling Stephen’s name when he was close. When Stephen poked his head out of the gap beneath the door, DeVontay said, “Tell everybody to come on.”
Kids began crawling out of the gap and onto the loading dock, Stephen among them. “What took you so long?” Stephen asked.