Dark Wave

Chapter 5

Finding Solitude

Birds tweeted softly as we walked through the undergrowth, the bushes started to skulk away to the sides as we passed.

And then we saw it.

Standing tall, grey and bland in the middle of the clearing, the Stronghold. Mack's gasp of awe told me he was looking where I was looking, at the great white building with ivy draped along stone columns, the shining stone steps that reached up to the glass doors. The stained windows, or blocked ones, gave hinting at an important building.

The government complex.

And now we're in the middle of their shit, came a tiny voice inside my head. 

"Lib." He said, taking my hand absently as we walked forward. 

"We're going to tell them about Karla, umm, what do we tell them?" I asked.

"We tell them that she didn't make it, because she didn't." He replied, squeezing my hand slightly.

"Okay." I said, squeezing back as I glanced up at him, moved down the small hill and into the hustle and bustle of a large courtyard, packed with strangers, survivors and familiar faces alike. A large marketplace among it, full of stalls, friendly smiles, the scent of freshly baked donuts and the faint grumbling of the deep fat fryer. 

We walked straight through it, barely flinching as a small child on a bicycle raced past us, with only one goal in place. 

To Find Solitude.

As we walked through the doors to the vast grey building that vaguely reminded me of what prisons seemed like in my dreams, the murmuring white noise grew louder, filling our ears. You could practically feel the noise. 

The inside was much nicer than the outside. It was sophisticated and elegant; the sunny yellow walls brightening up the vast space with the light shade of oak that covered the floor, tables and chairs dotted the place with dozens of pretty plants in brown vases on tables and shelves, bookcases and computers lined the place like a library, the curtains a whitish colour, draped to the sides of the windows and tied with golden tassels, but the purpose of the room was to keep zombies out of town. And everyone knew it.

Then we saw the plump woman in a mauve pencil skirt, a pink floral chemise with a green ascot and tight black pumps at the top of a platform with her back to us. She turned,  smiled at us as she skipped over, her two assistants at her side shoving her hair up and spraying hair spray at her.

She looked professional. She looked in charge.

"Olive, Mackenzie," She beamed, her arms around us as she kissed our cheeks twice. My hand fell from Mack's and to my side as she hooked her arms around us and led us up a staircase to the second level where everything were in separate offices and meeting rooms. She took us down a corridor and into a spacious room where she sat behind a desk adorned with a single name plate. 'Vee Kingsley.'

She gestured at us to sit on the adjacent sofa. It all seemed so practiced, so formal but yet casual at the same time. 

I sat back, crossed my legs.

"I trust you got here fine?" She asked, waving off an answer, "And Karla?" Her brow furrowed as she waited for a quick-snap answer. "Well?" She pressed.

"She, umm, didn't make it." I said, my voice hitching.

"Did you have to kill her?" Came the next question.

"I'm so sorry." I started, reaching forward at the desk, my eyes burning with strained tears.

"Hmm." She stood again and paced the room, with her hands -her finely manicured nails- pressed tightly to her side. I could tell she was resisting the urge to pick at them as she heard the knews of her 34 year old daughter's death.