Page 61 of Redemption
I turn my gaze up to a roof on the other side where another man waits. I didn’t notice him until he bobbed his headover the side, looked around for a second, and then ducked back down. Only his eyes and the top of his head remain, still scoping out the main road.
A new guy walks up to the pacer, bumping knuckles with him before taking his place, walking the same line the other did.
I suspected there might be some bullshit happening in a place like this, but this is beyond what I expected. There’s no way I’m going to be able to smuggle all this shit in without them immediately wanting to execute me on the spot. So, instead, I’ll leave it in plain sight. Ready and waiting for me to use when I need it.
Some of the items in my bag are inconspicuous, but it’s the sheer amount of them that I need to alter in order to not draw attention. The multiple, jumbo-sized cans of hairspray being the most concerning.
After wandering the outskirts for the better part of two hours, I’ve managed to determine the relative perimeter of their security and begin hiding my handmade weapons. The only items I keep in my pack are a few pairs of stolen clothes, some spices, a plastic soda bottle—emptied and filled halfway with water—and a rusted fillet knife I managed to find hidden away in a tackle box in the garage. I already know they’re going to confiscate the knife, but I need to be realistic. A random guy waltzing into town with no weapons wouldn’t make sense. A guy, covered in sweat and dirt, with no food, barely any water, and a blunt kitchen knife for survival? That’s more believable. And is far less intimidating than if I strolled in, racked up head-to-toe with guns like a modern-day Rambo. This get-up screams vulnerable, gullible, and desperate.
Exactly what I need them to believe.
∞∞∞
It’s late afternoon as I resituate my pack and take a deep breath, ready to head into the lion’s den. My hair is a mess, having rubbed dirt in it and giving it the good old-fashioned Edward Cullen treatment, and I made sure to jog in place for a little bit, making my breaths come out harsh and haggard. Once I feel sufficiently prepared, I turn off the main road and head into the woods.
While I could take the road back into town and cut out the middleman, it’s what they’d expect. David and his group saw us walk through this town going north. If I come back down the same road headed south, there’s a chance they could recognize me, even with my disguise. I can’t give them any reason to believe that I’m the same person they saw just a few days ago.
So, instead of staying in the open, I give the town a wide berth and wander through the trees, staying in the shadows. After a good hour or so, I find myself at the backside of the massive cornfield and turn in the direction of the township.
Time to get to work.
I step out from the tree cover and begin pushing through the waist-high stalks, gathering every bit of information I can from my surroundings with each stride. There are a couple of large barns up ahead that partially block my view of the town, their painted walls battered and old. There are also a few people working in the field, and they lift their heads in my direction as I pass by. Curiosity furrows their brows, but only for a moment before they turn their faces back to the ground and resume their work, choosing not to get too close or interact with me.
Suddenly, a harsh wail comes from inside one of the barns, capturing all our attention. On instinct, I take a hurried step forward, ready to race towards the sound, but stop as I glance back at the men still hidden in the stalks. I was expecting urgent concern, a need to investigate the cause of such a sound in a seemingly tranquil place such as this, but strangely, every one of them immediately stands and leaves the area, heading for the center of town instead.
Despite their perplexingly eager abandonment, however, I stay right where I am, rooted to the spot beneath my feet, because I know that sound.
Heard it multiple times over the years.
That’s a cry from pain. From suffering. I know for a fact someone close by is hurt. Possibly in that barn up ahead.
From the sound of it, I think I might have just found my way in...
The cries lead me to a door on the side of the building, where I find an armed guard stationed just outside of it. He’s holding a shotgun, but it’s loose in his hands as he remains unalarmed even as the cries for help from inside get louder and more intense.
This place doesn’t make any sense.
Why is he guarding a barn? Why does he need a gun to guard it? And why isn’t anyone helping the person inside who’s obviously in pain?
There’s only one way to find out.
I rush up to the man and double over, trying my best to look like a person who’s exhausted and about to keel over if I don’t get assistance quickly. Thankfully, it does the trick and gains the guard’s attention.
“Who are you?” he asks, lifting his weapon and pointing it at me when I stop a few steps away from him.
I put my arms up in response. “I was walking in the woods, trying to stay off the road and away from the infected, when I heard the screams. I used to work in a hospital and thought I could help.”
The guard tilts his head towards the screams inside. “Medical, huh? Of course, your kind would run towards the screams rather than away from them. No sense of survival in you guys.”
Obviously, this guy has never heard of a corpsman or a medic. I’ve seen plenty of us run towards danger in order to save people. Despite all of that, I manually override my distaste at his arrogance and keep my act moving.
“Yes, sir. If needed, I could offer my assistance.” Another keening howl fills the silence between us. “That sounds pretty serious if you ask me.”
His eyes narrow on my filthy clothes, on my disheveled state, at the intent I show in my eyes to provide care and help. “Weapons?”
I shake my head, huffing out a few breaths. “No gun... Just this.” I lift the practically useless knife I stashed in my pocket and toss it down to his side as the screams intensify. The guard makes no move to retrieve it but instead looks up and over my right shoulder at the man I didn’t hear approaching.
“Why hello, friend! It’s always nice to see a shiny new face in these parts. The name’s David, and you are?”
