Respire

by Cody Prough

  “So.” Lamar had asked, after his third cracker-and-tuna appetizer. “We can’t eat the lurkers?”

  “No” Patrick said after guzzling down half a can of generic lemon-lime soda. “The gas they release makes the meat toxic. I knew a guy who tried to eat one once. He ended up dead within an hour, it was the same thing the gas does to you...” Patrick trailed off a moment, blinking. He ate another snack, tuna covering yellow spongy cake, burping loudly. “The guys that were following you?” Patrick groaned, looking at his swelling ankle. “Started out as a community in a small town near Danville. We focused on research…”

  “We?” Lamar cutting in. “Yeah, Lamar. I was with ‘em for a bit. So, we did research on these things, right? But the community was expanding rapidly, and it all started spinning out of control.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “G’damn it.” Ken Hughes was seated in front of a long table, a full bottle of whiskey in front of him. He hadn’t touched the stuff in years, but he liked keeping a bottle of it around as a reminder of his past. The entire council had been brought here. Patrick was sitting against the wall, working as security for this meeting. “What’s the word on Gerald’s renegades?” Ken spun his chair, facing to his left to look at Rebecca, the intelligence officer to whom the question was addressed to, she shuffled through papers in a hurry. “The ones that’re left are starving. When they fled the compound, they didn’t manage to get away with much. Our reports suggest they won’t survive past the month.” She replied. Several sheets of paper were spread out in front of her now, fact checking as she continued to speak. “There was the… scrimmage where we lost someone last week…” Rebecca pointed to a sheet of paper. “Kelly Thompson, she was a nurse serving in our Allerton encampment. She was in town for supplies.” The intelligence officer grabbed another sheet of paper. “On the other hand, it appears as though the creatures are reducing in numbers.” Rebecca began to collect her sheets, keeping one on top as she continued to read, “Alec and Brodie found one dead and managed a field autopsy; the report is waiting on my desk now.” She finished her presentation, leaving the papers neatly stacked in front of her.

  Kenny smiled widely, spinning his chair to his right and looking at Louis, avoiding him at the other end of the table. “Say ol’ Louis… what’s the word on vehicles buddy?” Louis cleared his throat, looking around at the others for help before his eyes finally made it down the table back to Kenny.

  “Nothin’, sir. When the National Guard fled, they took all of theirs, probably headin’ to Chicago. Damn cowards, always high tailin’ it when…” Ken had gotten the into habit of tapping his ring on the oak table when he got impatient. “And…”

  Tap tap tap

  Louis cleared his throat, sitting up. “They took whatever runnin’ ones we had ‘round ‘ere for the emergency protocol, so…” Louis shrugged, avoiding Ken’s eyes. “OK, well at least there’s the good news about Gerald…” Ken sighed, rubbing his eyes. “OK, guys. Get outta here. Patrick, I want to talk to you if I can.” Everyone proceeded to get up and leave, Louis was last, his face was that of a scolded child. He hadn’t even been yelled at and he was pouting. Pathetic.

  “Close the door behind you, Louis.” He obeyed, closing the door gently. Patrick had taken a seat near Ken, placing his Colt 1911 on the table. “What’s up, boss?” Patrick turned to face Ken, who was leaning back in his seat, feet up on the table. “So. You’re about to hear where Gerald is.” Patrick could feel his stomach tighten. “Yeah?” Ken’s face twitched a bit, his eyes giving off a far more serious look than it did during the meeting. He slowly moved his feet down, leaning forward, placing his hand gently on his gun. “We found Gerald; he’s hidin’ across town in Father Max’s old church.” Ken grinned widely, it had the characteristics of a hyena’s grin in the Lion King, Patrick thought. “You know what this means, correct?” Patrick’s eyes were closed. Patrick, at this point barely twenty-two, had found himself working for Ken Hughes first as security for researchers. The group’s initial focus had been surviving and stabilizing, but then they started to research the lurkers more and more. Now he had slowly worked his way up the command in Sidell, excelling at field work and security.

  Things were going great, that is until Gerald got “a stick up his ass” as Ken put it. They had to be dealt with, Patrick knew. Otherwise they would continue to take pot shots at them. Louis was nearly hit the other day, and Kelly Thompson from Allerton caught a bullet in the head, sweet girl too. She was training to be a veterinarian before all of this. She and Louis had been looking for supplies in town when they showed up from behind, ambushing them. Luckily for Louis he survived, but Kelly had been in aisle three grabbing some gauze when Gerald allegedly sent a few flying at her.

  “Needin’ you an’ Louis to go do it.” Patrick opened his eyes, smiling at Ken. “You sure we can handle it? He split with about a dozen people.” Ken stood up, his grin finally fading down to a normal one, or as close as he could get anyways. “Sure, Patrick. Left with a dozen, got ‘bout four left. All ‘em pretty tired an’ hungry. Givin’ you two some rules, though. The other three? Disable ‘em and what not. Kill Gerald but bring back whoever you can. We need ‘em now more than ever. I got a special request from…” Ken trailed off, tapping his fingers on the table. “Never mind, that. Just bring back who you can.”

  Patrick slowly pulled his Colt 1911 over to him, standing and putting it in his holster. “I figure we can do that.” Ken walked over, slapping Patrick on the back playfully. Patrick had hardly noticed. “You two will be leavin’ tonight. I know it’s a bit risky wit’ those things out there. But I’m thinkin’ they mostly moved on t’ bigger towns. Just in case, try an’ dampen the shots.” Patrick nodded, his eyes meeting Ken’s. “Do you mind if I speak with Father Max first?” Ken’s grin faltered slightly. “Didn’t take you for the religious type, Saint Patrick. Still havin’ council with that priest is a bit peculiar.” Ken jabbed Patrick playfully. “I suppose I’m not, can’t blame me for wanting to cross the T’s and dot the I’s.” Ken squeezed Patrick’s shoulder affectionately as he walked out. Patrick exhaled a deep breath, hardly aware he was holding it in.

  “Forgive me Father, for I will sin.” Father Max had been in their makeshift chapel in the safely barricaded part of town. Everyone else moving around the stores in the downtown section (or what there was of one) of Sidell. Father Max had been there strictly to give people support, Sidell, as was with most small towns in Illinois or otherwise, is still a heavily religious community. “I told you, Patrick. It doesn’t work like that.” Father Max was sitting in a barbershop chair just ahead of Patrick. This was an old routine for them, but they had become very close these past few months. “You sure? I thought things were different now, Max.” Father Max shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed forward at the makeshift altar, which consisted of a few pictures of Jesus, a solo crucifix and some candles. “I suppose they are, young Patrick. What plagues you on this day?” Father Max turned his chair to look at Patrick, he hadn’t seemed to age much since this all started. Somehow, he kept his natural grace, black hair and goatee, mostly trimmed and his charismatic smile. Though, Patrick had to assume, this was the benefit of working out of a barbershop.

  “Well…” Patrick mulled over the statement for a few moments. Father Max waited patiently. “I’m going out on a job…with Louis.” Father Max nodded, his face never giving way to his feelings. “And it’s to take care of Gerald...” Father Max’s chest raised and slowly lowered. Again, his face remained passive. “I don’t know if I can do it… I mean, I’m not a killer, Father Max. Sure, some stuff has gone down. But this is…Gerald.” Father Max shook his head. “Desperate times we live in, Patrick. Desperate times indeed.” Father Max had gotten up, moving towards the backroom. “Patrick, I have a gift for you. But please don’t think of this as an encouragement towards violence. I simply procured it as a gift for you. A thank you for the friendship and kindness you’ve shown.” He began looking at the boxes, moving
a few shelves over, digging into the back and procuring a small hard plastic case out of the shelving, and held it out to Patrick. He opened the case, revealing a Walther .25 caliber handgun.

  “I know how violent these times are that we live in. I simply always want you to be prepared. I know against monsters this weapon is ineffective, but…” Father Max took a deep breath “I also know that humans will be a bigger threat, now. Especially with your rising status around here.” Father Max reorganized his backroom, stopping for a moment to look at Patrick.

  Patrick took the small pistol, checking the magazine before popping it back in, tucking it in his coat pocket. It sagged ever so slightly “You know, I appreciate it, but…” Patrick tapped his Colt 1911. “I’m not too worried about needing it.” Patrick grinned, his smile showing a false bravado that Father Max saw through all too well. “I’m a regular gunslinger with this baby.”

  “Right, Patrick.” Father Max shook his head.

  “So.” Father max continued. “Have you decided what to do about Gerald?” Patrick straightened his jacket, popping his neck. “What other choice do I have?” Father Max held up his hands in a surrendering gesture, “You could just not kill him.” Patrick started shaking his head, smiling. “Sure, so Louis can kill me. Or I kill Louis. Maybe Ken kills me.” Father Max sighed, putting his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Patrick, you could warn him.” Patrick began to shake his head slowly. “Doesn’t work that way, Father. I couldn’t make it past the first posted guard.”

  “Well, you are your own man. I’m just ashamed to see you go down this path, young Patrick.” Patrick offered Father Max a weak grin. “I’ll see you when I get back.” It was Max’s turn to give him a half-hearted grin. “Patrick, if you’re half as smart as I hope you are you won’t be coming back.” Father Max considered this briefly, smiling at Patrick. “But if you do, I have a black journal in the backroom of the chapel. I’d love to get it back.”

  “Make a choice already.” Louis was becoming impatient. He had chosen a simple pump-action shotgun, Patrick was deciding on new weapons, keeping the .25 caliber a secret, he chose the Colt and a shotgun like Louis’s. “No, take a hunting rifle. In case we need to hit ‘em from a distance.” Louis took a large hunting rifle from the rack, tossing it carelessly to Patrick. “That way we ain’t gotta explain how you fucked up.” Patrick slung the rifle over his shoulder, ignoring Louis’s comment and carrying the Colt in his right hand. “What’s the plan?” he asked, as they headed out of the armory into the small downtown section. “I hit the front; you guard the back?” Patrick shook his head in irritation. “How are we supposed to take them out ourselves with old hunting gear? You saw it, the armory is almost empty, and we aren’t findin’ more.” Patrick continued talking in low tones as they moved through town, taking to the outskirts and circling around.

  “Never mind all of that, Patrick. Jesus Christ. Anyone tell you that you talk too much?” Louis spit some of his chewing tobacco out, hitting some overgrown grass, they were crouched down a block from the church. The yards were overgrown, as was the area surrounding the town. It would remain so until winter, when everything was dead. They were looking at the church, Louis had his shotgun in his hands, Patrick’s rifle now resting in his own.

  “Alright, I’m thinkin’ we just keep it simple. Both go in together, sweep it. It’s small; if they run, we’ll hear ‘em before they go to the back.” Louis spit again, streaking the side of a window, the brown chew oozing down. “Great, so they can mow us both down. Who the fuck put you in charge, anyways?” Patrick took the rifle in both his hands firmly, glancing at the church. “Got a better idea, Patrick?”

  “I’ll go in the back quietly, you sneak in, got that? Sneak in through the front. Maybe we catch ‘em off guard and we don’t have to kill anyone.”

  “Except Gerald.” Louis pointed out.

  “Just remember to be quiet.” Patrick replied, grunting as he stood up.

  “Fine, Patrick. Get your ass shot off goin’ in alone. See if I care.” Louis got up, racking the shotgun. “I’ll get to the other side of the street, more coverage ova’ there. Then I’ll give you a ten count.”

  Patrick began to make his way to the back of the church, he decided to place the rifle outside in some bushes, choosing the Colt for going inside. He checked the back door, finding it locked, but noticing a window into the small kitchen had been opened. That’s a little too easy, Patrick thought. He peered inside, his Colt moving around the room with his eyesight. After he was convinced it was clear he did an embarrassing job of climbing into the window, kicking his feet as he made the last few inches to get in. Once he made his way inside he began to check room after room, eventually finding the journal and slowly making his way to the main chapel still with no sign of anyone else. “Yo’ Louis.” Patrick looked around the empty chapel, sighing slowly.

  Where the fuck is he? “Louis? Damn it. Did you leave you chicken shit?” Patrick started to move back towards the front door, what stopped him was someone stepping out behind a wall and pressing a shotgun into his side. “Oh, hey… Gerald?” Patrick took a deep breath. “Or,” he paused “is it Louis?” Patrick started to turn his head, only slightly. He could see Louis’ douche-bag haircut, cut low on the sides but left long in the middle. “Hey, Louis—”

  “Patrick do you EVER shut the fuck up? Man drop the gun. Where’s the rifle?” Patrick tossed the handgun to the side. “It’s outside in the bushes…” The barrel was moved around to his back and down to his tailbone. “So, you an’ Gerald use to be uh…” Louis chuckled. “Pretty close, once upon a time. So, you helped ‘em escape, didn’t you? You an’ Max helped ‘em hole up here. You betrayed the family.”

  “Damn, Louis. A box of bullets goes missing here an’ there maybe. But what about when those pills keep comin’ up missin’? Y’know, the ones you’re stashin’ in—” Louis slammed the butt of the shotgun into the back of Patrick’s head, forcing him down to his knees, he grunted, risking a look back at Louis.

  “Louis, can I at least say a prayer?” Louis nudged Patrick ahead with the shotgun. “Where’s Gerald? And his people?” Louis chuckled, following behind Patrick. The Colt laying down where he tossed it. The .25 caliber handgun still tucked in his pocket. “Oh, they shot you, then fled right after, though. Ken’ll be sure to put a positive spin on it. Poor people in town’ll have to mourn ya’, you’ll probably be a hero. After all, we can’t have people knowin’ you were a traitor. Lowers morale. You are so loved. You and that fuckin’ Priest.”

  “Right, but seriously where is Gerald?” Patrick had arrived at the altar, slowly getting in a praying position. “They fled town a while ago. Haven’t seen ‘em since they left the camp, practically.” Patrick took a deep breath. “So, what about Kelly?” Louis spit a wad of chewing tobacco near Patrick. “Shut up. Now get your prayin’ done, let’s end it.” Louis lowered the gun to the ground, apparently not wanting to be too disrespectful during his time of prayer. “Louis, I’m disarmed, man. Give me a few feet. We both know the gun can hit me from anywhere in this damn chapel.” Louis grunted, taking a few steps back. “I know I have my cross here somewhere…” Louis had put a cigarette in his mouth, but leaving it unlit, keeping the gun lazily aimed towards the ground, unconcerned about Patrick.

  Jesus Christ, Louis. No wonder Gerald got out of town. Assholes like you are so easily distracted.

  Gracefully putting his hand in his pocket, he knew he had maybe two shots at best. Whirling around and throwing his back against the altar, he quickly cocked the gun. Louis’s eyes shot up, becoming as wide as the barrel of his shotgun, starting to raise it just a moment too late. The first bullet missed by a foot, the second one hit his carotid artery, causing blood to fountain out in a large spurt, covering everything to his right. Louis fired the shotgun with one hand, taking out a stained-glass window, and dropped to the ground. The shotgun left his hand while he applied pressure to the wound. He looked at Patrick both in shock and disbelief, “Damn it�
�” Patrick was himself in shock, taking deep breaths. The blood was oozing between Louis’s fingers, Louis started to claw for the shotgun desperately, Patrick, after gathering himself, managed to crawl towards the shotgun first. “Louis, I’m…” Patrick pulled the shotgun towards him. “Man, you’re just stupid. I’m sorry.” He watched, partly in shock, partly out of fear, and unsure of what to do. Patrick waited a few more minutes. He slowly got up, took the shotgun, went back for the handgun and headed out of the church back towards town, unaware of what to do.

  After sneaking back into town, bribing the guard Jake with promises of returning with a dime bag if he gave him twenty minutes to get back out of town without telling anybody. Apparently, Jake didn’t give a fuck what happened to Louis, or know they had gone out together for that matter. Patrick entered the barber shop, seeing Father Max giving council to one of the gardeners that helped provide them with food during the warmer months, something Patrick didn’t even care to listen to. After impatiently waiting as not to cause any concern, he finally got to speak with Father Max. He had waited five minutes. The clock was ticking, the door was locked, and the shades drawn, Patrick ushered Father Max to the back of the barber shop. “Father Max, we have a problem.” Father Max didn’t seem alarmed, simply waiting with patience as Patrick secured the shop best as he could. “What seems to be the problem, Patrick?” Patrick turned his attention towards the door, looking at Father Max again as he spoke. “Kenny wants us dead.” Father Max, always the face of peace and serenity, took on a worried look. “What makes you think that?”