Black River Falls by Jeff Hirsch(58)

By then we’d mixed in with at least three other groups of infected. We turned a corner, and suddenly there it was. The bridge. The roadway was clear. It was a straight shot to Lucy’s Promise. Seeing it gave us a jolt, and we raced out onto it. Hannah and I looked around wildly as we ran, counting heads, making sure everyone was there. I panicked when I didn’t see Tomiko, but then the crowd shifted and I caught sight of her.

We were halfway across when the truck appeared. It shot out of a side street and came to a stop at the far end of the bridge, blocking our way. Marvins in riot gear poured out, ten or fifteen of them, some with shields and clubs, some with tear gas launchers, some with sleek black rifles hanging from their shoulders and side arms strapped to their hips. The crowd didn’t turn back, didn’t even slow. We hit them as one body, determined to break through. Clubs fell. Gas billowed. An older man crumpled beside me, eyes shut, blood on his forehead. A woman went down next. I heard a scream and turned to see Jenna and Tomiko trapped by the flow of the crowd, their backs pressed against the stone guardrail. I tore through a clot of infected and pulled them away from the Marvins.

“Go! Run!”

By then the Marvins were advancing, pushing us back to the other side of the bridge, toward Black River and away from Lucy’s Promise. There were still a few infected out in the middle of it though, some fighting, others who just couldn’t escape.

I led Jenna and Tomiko to a spot on the grass, then started searching for everyone else as a stream of escaping infected raced by. I found them on the other side of the road, huddled around Hannah. They were trapped by the riot, but safe. Ren. Eliot. Makela. Astrid. Crystal. Isaac. Hannah. Greer. DeShaun. Carrie. Ricky. Margo.

Someone was missing. Benny.

I stood up and saw him among a group out in the middle of the bridge. The crowd was thinning, but he was caught in an eddy of people near the Marvin line and couldn’t get away. I ran for him, but the retreating infected slammed into me, knocking me backward.

“Benny!” I called, throwing my elbows out to try to clear a path. “Let me through! Benny!”

Someone rammed into me from behind and hurtled past. I saw a flash of skin and a black tattoo. Greer. He punched a hole through the crowd and grabbed Benny by the shoulder, tossing him back out of danger. As he went to follow, a Marvin jumped out of the line and swung his club, connecting with Greer’s side. I heard one of his ribs snap with a wet pop. He spun to face the man, teeth bared, his fist whipping out to the side as he turned. The Marvin flinched. There was something in Greer’s hand. A flash of silver and black. My hand dropped to my hip. The sheath was empty. My knife was gone.

I threw myself against the tide, screaming Greer’s name as the Marvin dropped his club and went for his side arm. Greer looked back at me, and for a split second our eyes met; then he turned to the Marvin, the knife still clenched in his fist. The Marvin’s gun cleared his holster and the black barrel rose. Greer took a step forward.

“No!”

There was the crack of a gunshot and then a second of quiet so huge it was as if all the noise had fallen out of the world. It was followed by a single bright ping as the knife hit the concrete, and then the thump of a body falling to the ground. No one moved. No one made a sound. We all stood there, frozen, listening to the roar of the water as it crashed over the falls.





22


THE NEXT THING knew, I was lying on the floor, knees to chest, wedged into the corner of a dark room. It was noisy—raised voices, thumping steps, slamming doors—but it all seemed far away, echoey, as if I were listening from deep under water. Dark shapes swam all around me, appearing and disappearing as they moved past a line of bright rectangles along the wall. I tried to sit up, but every muscle in my body was cinched into a series of knots.

Someone pushed a plastic bottle into my hands. Water. My throat was burning. I pulled my mask aside and took a long drink, then poured the rest over my eyes to try to clear my vision. Everything shimmered, then came into focus.

I was in a square chamber, lit by flashlights and candles. There was a large wooden desk in front of me and, beyond that, rows of smaller desks and metal chairs. A classroom. In the high school. Strangers moved in and out, hauling away the furniture and replacing it with makeshift cots. Some of the people on the cots were crying, some were screaming, some weren’t moving at all. The scent of smoke and sweat and blood was heavy, even through my mask.

Someone ran down the hall screaming. “We did it! We pushed them out. We pushed them right the hell out!”

Whoever it was laughed loudly and madly and then was gone. Why wasn’t I with the others? I had to find them. I had to make sure everyone was all right. My backpack was beside me. I grabbed it, then reached for my knife, but the sheath was empty. I made it to my hands and knees, grasped for the edge of the teacher’s desk, and climbed to my feet. My legs wobbled and my vision grayed out, but I managed to stay standing. My clothes were torn and filthy, and there was a strip of white cloth tied tight around my leg. Blood showed through it. I tried to remember how it had happened, but nothing came to me.

I threw myself from the desk to the wall by the door and staggered out of the room. There were more people lying in the hallway and still more in the classrooms beyond. I came to a staircase and started down, my hand clamped to the railing. A boy, eight or nine years old, ran up the steps, calling out to someone. His shoulder hit mine, spinning me around. There was a crack of thunder, and then I dropped my pack and fell against the railing. Darkness swirled. I hit the ground and the world went shooting away.