Into the Yellow Zone Read online

  He ran north by the dim light of the star- and moon-filled sky, keeping the massive domed military facility far to his right. Had it been daytime, Luke would have been able to see all of the buildings, houses, and people inside the dome. Under the cover of night, though, he only saw the clear glass structure and the reflection of the perimeter lights.

  Once past the dome, he traveled just below the ridgeline for many miles. Walking on the ridgeline would have allowed him to see better, but also to be seen. He could not risk that. At least the terrain was easier here than the heavy undergrowth he had trudged through from his shelter to Dover, when he set off on his search for Isabella. With any luck, the colonel would assume that he had left the base and followed the main road to the mutant community. Perhaps they would not search for him on their own property. He needed to find somewhere to cross the mountain and get to Telemark, the back way.

  He needed to find the village no matter what. He had to find it. The pills rattled in his backpack as he hiked steadily onward.

  Luke thought back to this morning. Nurse Lady had come to his quarters to check on him and he had given her the letter he wrote for Isabella.

  Nurse Lady had put it in her pocket, promising to deliver it to his sister once the troops retrieved her from the mutant village of Telemark. She had also brought Luke some good news. Since he was not showing any signs of TB, they would allow him a brief tour of the facility before they shipped him home the next day.

  The soldier girl who brought his meals and books showed up at 11 am for the tour. They would not have time to see the entire 6,500-acre facility under the thick Plexiglas dome, but Luke got to see some of its interconnected laboratories, offices, and shops. She took him down streets of homes that all seemed cut from the same mold, as if a giant bricklayer had plopped down multiples of the same two-story square house one after the other after the other. They may not have been the prettiest of homes, but they were all easily accessible to base personnel without ever having to go Outside. By early afternoon, they had put many miles of roadway on their electric cart and were headed back to the main administration building when a group of teenagers passed by.

  Eavesdropping was something Luke Bellardini was quite good at, having lived in a small underground shelter for sixteen and a half years, but for once, he was not actually trying to listen. These boys were just loud. All it took was two sentences of their conversation for Luke’s life to change once again.

  “All that bother raiding the mutant village and they didn’t even find the girl they went there for. What a waste of time.”

  Isabella was still out there! The military was not going to bring her to Picatinny – and she would never get the TB drugs. She would hack until she coughed out the lining of her lungs, dying a slow and painful death. TB had been epidemic in third world countries in the 20th century amongst the poor but the right cocktail of drugs treated it easily, even before the Final War. Now they had even newer drugs that treated it faster, and they still would not give it to the mutants. Isabella would die out there.

  Fear filled his gut and he felt his insides turn to water. His mission to retrieve his sister was not over.

  He had to go back out there, unprotected, into the Outside.

  The sound of a twig cracking under his foot brought Luke back to the present. He would have to pay more attention to his movements. He was not sure that traveling at night would be any safer than during the day but he assumed he had the advantage in the black of night. It was unlikely that the soldiers from Picatinny had realized he was gone yet, but he could not be certain. He would be able to see their active-camo suits shimmer in the dark, but they also had night vision goggles and could just turn off their camouflage and blend into the dark. During the day, they would use stealth mode. Regardless of whether he traveled during the day or at night, the military would catch him if they could find him. Luke just had to make sure they would not.

  His thoughts bounced back and forth like a ping-pong ball.

  Luke thought back to his grandfather Anthony’s old paperbacks from the 1980s. The adventure stories about a post-apocalyptic world intrigued him because he could relate to it. Although the old world had not ended in the U.S.-Soviet global war like those books had theorized, the truth was not that far off. The Terror Wars had raged for decades and finally, when everyone in the West thought they were safe, the lunatics struck back and ended it all in one awful catastrophic event. Over ninety-nine percent of the population died within a year of the one-day Final War.

  Fifty years later, shelter folk were still getting by with their own gardens and provisions, and also aided by annual re-supply visits from the government for the things they could not grow themselves. Now that same government would be hot on his trail as soon as they realized he was gone.

  Jon Bjork, the fictional hero from his grandfather’s paperbacks, was a master of survival, so he would just have to remember what the books said to do. Whenever possible, walk on rocks and fallen trees so you do not leave footprints. Pick up your feet so you don’t kick piles of leaves. Run through water to mask your scent from bloodhounds. Move quickly and unexpectedly, obscuring your own trail. Did Picatinny have bloodhounds? Just because Nurse Lady had a puppy did not mean the base was crawling with trained tracking dogs.

  Luke stayed alert and vigilant as he moved. His progress was slow. He stayed low to the ground to avoid discovery in the off chance a soldier in night vision goggles happened upon him. He had to get as far away as possible, as fast as possible. Once base commander, Colonel Ericcsen, realized he had escaped, he would send at least one team to retrieve him. They had found him before while he was chasing after Isabella and Luke was certain they could do it again.

  Or would they? The colonel said they had found him “just in time.” After 72 hours, he would be a write-off, his genes too damaged to reproduce safely. Maybe they would not care about him after that. Anyway, Colonel Ericcsen knew that Luke was going to Telemark. They could simply pick him up there.

  Luke was weary of second-guessing himself at every turn. Uncertain what the answers were to his endless questions, he concentrated on the mission at hand: Get to Isabella, give her the TB meds and warn her of the dangers Outside, and don’t get caught until he knew she would be okay.

  * * *

  Isabella

  Six people and a cat did not move any faster through the wilderness than the tribe of fifteen had, but it was easier to keep this smaller group together.

  Telemark’s mystic seer Araddea had directed Malcolm and Isabella east in search of the “mad scientist” from her visions. They had no idea if he really was crazy, or simply driven. Araddea could not tell. She simply saw him in her visions, in a “roach factory” working with glass tubes. She could not read his mind, but the man’s emotions bled through the vision. He was agitated, frustrated, and often angry, but he worked with purpose and she knew he was important. Araddea just did not know why.

  With no better plan, they followed Isabella’s antique road map along the crumbling roadways. That same strategy had served Malcolm well on his trek from Ewr, before he met Isabella and did not have a map. Traveling along overgrown roads with crumbled bridges and overpasses could be harrowing – but it beat hacking their way through the thick woods. The bigger roads that the maps labeled “interstates” were wide but not always passable, as weeds had grown up through every crack in the road surface. It was not unusual to find trees growing in the middle of four or five lanes of old roadway. Of course, the decaying vehicles that blocked the road were no help either.

  Most of Malcolm’s original tribe had stayed in Telemark, and Isabella and her group intended to go back there after this trip. Their friends Clay and Kalla, Malcolm’s daughter Shia, and their adopted daughter, Andra traveled with them. The group was making good time down the small road from Telemark to the interstate. It was a lovely day and Isabella still marveled at the beauty of the world Outside, no matter how deadly it was. Last year’s foliage lay in a gold
and brown carpet under their feet as they hiked. Even with the little kids along, they had traversed the overgrown road to the old interstate in less than two hours.

  Isabella was continually amazed at how quick three-year-old Shia ambled along with her crooked gait. One of her legs was significantly shorter than the other, and she only had one ear. Her milk chocolate skin and shocking red hair, a genetic trait inherited from her mother who had died when Shia was only two, gave her a unique yet beautiful look. She would be a stunner when she matured, which would not be too long from now. Mutant children developed at an incredible rate. At three, she looked more like five or six. By twelve, they would pair her to a mate and by thirteen, with any luck, she would have her first child. If she were really lucky, she would live to 22 or 23.

  On the way to Telemark they had steered wide around Rockaway, but now they knew that there were no Eaters there. The Telemark community kept watch on their surroundings. Isabella's group now walked the interstate that ran through the heart of the dead city.

  A shudder ran up Isabella’s spine as she recalled their unexpected battle with a dozen Eaters in Dover. They had barely gotten away with their lives. The gray-skinned, mindless creatures had attacked them and forced them to take refuge in an old textile factory. They fought the cannibals, and killed the entire group. They had walked in silent, shell-shocked apathy afterward. It was not until they arrived at Telemark that Malcolm's tribe had finally relaxed.

  Before the Final War, the Eaters had been human children, but exposure to radiation and chemicals had transformed them into monsters. Their strength was inhuman. They were hideous beasts with thick skin and sightless white eyes. Bent and sinewy, they moved with deadly grace and speed, hunting by sound and scent. Once Eaters got their hands on a human, they tore and gnawed at their flesh, consuming their victim before they were even dead. Eaters were almost impossible to kill, but 17-year-old Malcolm and his tribe were experienced hunters and in the battle for their lives, they had no choice but to prevail.

  The last thing Isabella and Malcolm wanted was to come across a band of Eaters ever again.

  Afternoon drifted into evening by the time they arrived at a messy tangle of roads fifteen or sixteen miles east of Rockaway. Clover-leafs rose up in circles, with ramps going up and down in crazy directions where portions of raised roadway had collapsed. Lower roads had sunk into the ground. Isabella did not know what to make of the mess and wondered who had designed such an outlandish network of concrete and steel.

  She glanced over at her husband who replied with an answer to her unasked question, as if he had read her mind. “You got me, Belle. It’s weird, for sure.”

  “We’ve come a long way, Malcolm. Can’t we rest and figure it out in the morning?” An extensive complex of broken buildings stood just south of the road tangle. A large, flat, concrete parking lot stretch out around the buildings. A few trees had managed to take root in the stone, and the weeds that encircled the buildings were no more than knee high. Nothing would be sneaking up on them here tonight.

  “You’re right. The kids are tired. Even Andra’s cat looks tired. Let’s make camp over there.”

  Isabella knew the kids were not quite as tired as she was, but was pleased that Malcolm had made it sound like they were. It was sweet of him to mind her feelings. Growing up in an underground shelter had not given her the stamina that the “new humans” – her term for mutants – had.

  With nothing to obscure their view, they would be able to see any dangers as they approached. Of course, they would also be out in the open, but it was uncommon for Eaters to venture out onto the grassy plain. They preferred the shadows and stealth the alleyways and sewers their cities provided. But then, Eaters were far from the only danger they faced.

  Before the wars, people kept all kinds of animals for pets, in their homes, in zoo cages, and in safari parks. People took care of them but after the Final War, most died from chemicals or starvation. A few broke out of their cages and were able to fend for themselves. Lions had all but died out, but tigers had survived because they were extraordinarily adaptable creatures. Their numbers continued to multiply and they roamed a wide territory, even in New Jersey.

  Tigers hunted on the grassy plains, but they were rare and no matter where they camped, tigers could be a problem. The group would have to take their chances.

  They set up their two tents and made dinner. Kalla removed the provisions from her pack and once Clay got a cook fire going, she heated up their food. The pre-cooked chicken was tasty, although Isabella was still getting used to eating meat. The carrots were sweet and covered in an herb sauce mixture of parsley, chives, and cilantro. Ever since she was a little girl, Isabella had tended vegetables and herbs in her family shelter’s Hydroponics’ garden. She had a knack for plants. Her grandmother Louise used to joke that Izzy got along better with the plants than with her three siblings. She never liked that nickname and was glad to leave it behind.

  After they finished their meal, Kalla pulled out slices of delicious cherry pie that Violet had so carefully wrapped for them and put in a protective wooden box. Kalla had carefully carried that box in her backpack all day. The sweet, sticky fruit that leaked out from between the layers of flaky crust made Isabella’s mouth water and her taste buds cry for more. Pies had not been a part of her diet in the shelter. They had cherries that grew on miniature trees, but never enough flour to bake pies.

  Licking his fingers after his last bite of dessert, Malcolm leaned back and looked up at the darkening sky.

  As if reading his mind, Isabella pulled out her map and unfolded it on the grass. She spread it flat with her palms, and then sat down next to Malcolm, brushing her bare arm against his. She loved feeling his skin next to hers. His dark ebony skin was baby soft, nearly hairless, and she tingled in a magical way every time they touched.

  “What’s it show, Belle?” Malcolm asked, leaning forward to look at the map of New Jersey. He took off his T-shirt and his ebony black skin glistened with sweat in the setting sun.

  Isabella leaned against him as if he were a tall chair. Walking all day carrying their backpacks, she rarely got the chance to touch him. Sometimes they held hands, but usually the going was too rough and they needed all their attention on the terrain. Now that they were able to relax, Isabella reveled in the feeling of her new husband’s physical presence.

  “Hard to say,” Isabella replied, “but if we keep going on the interstate, we won’t find a lot of buildings. It looks like the industrial sections are on the smaller roads and I think a factory would have to be in that kind of area. From here, I’d take one of these roads.” She indicated two smaller eastbound roads on the map, both colored orange.

  Malcolm raked his four-fingered left hand through his straw-colored hair and thought about it. Finally, he nodded his agreement and said, “In the morning we should go see which one is in the best condition.”

  Getting the chance to unwind for a little while, all of them just relaxing on the ground was just what Isabella needed. She was staring up at the sky when Kalla asked, “Should we check out the mall?”

  Isabella’s reaction was visceral. There could be Eaters in there! She tried to hide her fear, not wanting to look weak in front of the younger children, but it was very difficult.

  It turned out that Isabella did not have to worry about being afraid. She was not the only one.

  “Are you crazy Kalla?” Clay shot out. “We have no idea what kind of dangers could be inside, and we could get trapped and killt there. No, we don’t need to go in there.”

  Kalla looked hurt. “I only thought there might be useful supplies inside, from before the wars.”

  Malcolm came to the younger girl’s emotional rescue, as he was so good at doing. “Kalla, you are right to think about our need for supplies, but Clay is also right about the possible danger. Besides, I’m sure most of the stores have already been picked clean. This shopping center is too close to a major road.”

  Malcolm tur
ned to Isabella. “On our trip from Ewr to your shelter, the only places we ever found anything useful were in buildings far from accessible roads.”

  “Ewr” turned out to be the city of Newark, New Jersey. Its name had gotten shorter over the decades. It was where Malcolm grew up, and the place they left a few months ago in search of a cleaner, less poisoned place to live.

  He looked back at the highway that brought them to this shopping center. “Since the dead cars here were pushed to the side of that big road, I deem even the military comes out here from time to time. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure they took anything worthwhile from those shops years ago.”

  Isabella sighed in relief and she could feel her heart beat slowing. After the battle with the Eaters in Dover, the mere thought of going inside an abandoned building terrified her.

  Just as Isabella lay back down in the grass, Malcolm asked her if she wanted to start her archery lessons.

  She sat up slowly. “I am soooo exhausted,” she wined. “But I know I need to learn how to use that damned bow.”

  Malcolm replied, “We can wait until you are less tired.”

  “No! If we’re ever attacked, I need to be able to defend myself and the rest of my family.” She bounded up from the grass, ready to start, determination replacing the energy she lacked.

  Isabella was petite and had short arms, so Malcolm gave her Clay’s bow to use, as it was set up for a smaller person. She could never have used Malcolm’s larger bow.

  Isabella held the compound bow out. “Like this?” she asked.

  Malcolm nodded. She pulled the string back easily. It felt good in her hands.

  “Now gently release it,” instructed Malcolm.

  Isabella let go and the string sprang back and hit the inside of her left arm. “Ow!” she exclaimed, feeling the sting of the bowstring hitting her soft flesh. But she inhaled and tried again, trying not to look at the dark red welt that swelled as the training session went on. She fought back tears; she was getting used to experiencing pain Outside.