“I need to head back down,” he says.
“I’ve got a class to train.”
“See you at dinner—or at least at the meeting tonight?”
Ah, the
meeting my sister called. I give him the best smile I can. “Yeah. I’ll save you a seat.”
Chapter 4
Pre-ETR, I worked my ass off in high school to earn valedictorian. I had early acceptance to pre-med at Duke. Post-ETR, my sister--or one of her minions--has assigned me to the training room. Essentially, I’m a fitness instructor. With the help of one of the FF (Freedom Fighters) our job is to train the able-bodied how to survive outside these walls. Well, maybe not survive, but at least be able to run away.
I have zero experience in fighting, but I guess I did survive the journey from Raleigh to Augusta, which makes me some kind of expert. Or at least that’s what I tell myself as I stand in front of a group of twelve men and women. Not for the first time, I notice most are in their later teens and early twenties, even though people of all ages live here.
We’re in the gym located one floor below ground. PharmaCorp provided a gym for its employees which, like everything else here, has made life post-ETR really convenient. The Fort has locker rooms, a cafeteria, a child care facility, huge underground storage facilities, and the hundreds of offices now used as dormitories.
The gym encompasses most of this level, with a wide track surrounding the fitness area in the middle. I was a runner in high school—the only sport I participated in (at my mother’s insistence)--and I lead the group around the track at a slow jog.
“What’s the point of all this?” I ask, falling in pace with Davis. He instructs most of the fighting technique as well as a weight-lifting regimen. It’s clear by looking at his physique that working out has been a priority for him for a long time. He has muscles on top of other muscles. I’ve had a lot of time to admire them since I got here, at least when we’re working together. When I’m not patrolling and he’s not off on some top-secret mission, we have three classes scheduled each day. “I mean, I know we need to be in shape but it seems a little much.”
“It’s best to be prepared for any situation, Ramsey. Stamina can save your ass.”
My eyes narrow. “What kind of situation?”
“Keep moving!” he shouts, and pulls me off the track. “Look, you didn’t hear it from me, but things are about to change around here.”
“What kind of change?”
He shakes his head and rubs the shorn hair on top. “Your sister is making the announcement tonight. I don’t know the details, but the Fighters have been told to expect our assignments to change.”
Wyatt, Davis, Walker, and the other Freedom Fighters are a group of mercenaries Jane has paid to be her military presence. She recruited them right before all hell broke loose, giving her an edge against any outside military interference. From what I gather, they’re former military (or just really awesome at this end-of-the-world thing), and are willing to do whatever my sister wants as long as they’re paid. Right now, payment comes in the form of shelter and food. God knows if and when money will matter again.
I can’t tell if their views align with Jane’s. The concept of her God-like role in the apocalypse is downplayed around here. People think PharmaCorp is working for the greater good—which in their mind they probably are—but even so, I’m not sure to what end. I have some suspicions I’ve kept to myself.
“Line up!” Davis shouts and everyone falls in to the middle. Newbies look around alarmed but follow the others. Within a minute, Davis is giving out orders for a series of calisthenics.
“Watch Ramsey,” he says. I get into position at the front of the room, on a small platform so everyone can see. Davis directs. I’m the example. “Follow her lead. Do what she does and you’ll be fine.”
That is a terrifying statement.
Chapter 5
The auditorium slopes downward with a large stage at the front. A podium stands in the middle with a microphone jutting toward the ceiling. For a brief moment, I have the surreal memory of sitting in a similar room at the summer TIP program at Duke, listening to lectures with all the other nerds hovered over our desks and laptops.
I wonder how many of those students survived?
The room fits three hundred and it seems to be about half full. Children under the age of fifteen have been asked not to attend and wait in the child care wing. The older kids are watching the younger and several of the medical personnel are down in the clinic.
Cole waves at me from his seat near the front. I squeeze through the others, stepping over feet to the empty spot he saved for me.
“You made it.” Cole says, holding down the flip-up seat.
“Long line at the showers.” I grimace as he tugs at one of my still-damp pigtails. “It’s so weird being here sometimes, how it’s so perfect and ’normal’ while knowing what’s on the outside.”
Although if my last trip off-site was any indication, things seem to be calming down out there. The few Eaters we encountered perked up a little when our vehicle passed, spider-veined eyes tracking the noise, but since we weren’t looking for the infected—just survivors—we moved along before anything triggered their rage.
Cole rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve been trapped in the lab for weeks.”