10 Minutes From Home | Book 1 | 10 Minutes From Home

by Howard, Bill

  “Thom? Are you okay?”

  Thom turned his head slightly; he had been crying again, his cheeks slick with tears. He moved his hand to his pack and pulled loose the chainsaw, handing it to me.

  “No Denny. I’m not okay.” He said quietly.

  He raised his eyes to meet mine, and the sudden shock of his red-ringed yellow iris’s made me recoil.

  “Go Denny, get the others and go. They came for the kids, Isabel, and me. I’ll keep them away from you as long as I can, but you have to go now.”

  I was in shock; I just stood there like a mannequin. Then I heard a noise from out back, it sounded like Max, but it was a high-pitched squeal.

  “GOOOO!” screamed Thom.

  Reddish yellow foam dripped from his mouth, bits of it dotting the air. I looked at those wild eyes.

  “I’m so sorry Thom.”

  I took off running to the door, pushed the dresser aside, and bounded down the stairs with the chainsaw, pulling the cord as I ran. The motor burst to life, and I came around back to the kitchen. The kids who had come after me were not there anymore, and I rounded the corner to the basement door. Clive was laying on the floor still, his clothes bloodied and two small bodies lying on either side of him. He wasn’t moving. There was no sign of any of the other kids. I rushed to him and set the running chainsaw on the floor. I looked into his face for a sign of life, his chest was moving slightly and he had a pulse. I called his name a few times and gave him light slaps across his cheeks. His eyelids fluttered and eventually opened. He turned his head and looked at me, his face a bloody mess. I grabbed his hand to help him up; he still seemed able to move, anyway. Once standing, Clive looked at me, then his eyes moved slightly to my right and over my shoulder and widened. I spun around with the chainsaw in front to see Thom standing there, chin stained with foam and florescent yellow eyes. Isabel stood beside him; the contraption Thom had made was lying on the floor. Neither one made a move towards us; they just stood there like some bizarre wedding cake couple.

  “There isn’t much more time. Get out now.” He stated matter-of-factly.

  Clive walked with a slight limp to the back door and opened it; I followed him with the chainsaw, keeping my eyes on Thom and Isabel. I walked out the door backwards, and Thom just watched me go.

  “God Almighty!" Clive screamed.

  I turned quickly and looked at the place in the backyard that Clive had lit up with his flashlight. Eight or nine children were huddled in a bunch on the lawn, looking like ants crawling all over an anthill. It took a moment to register, but I realized that the anthill was in fact Ellie. I ran out into the yard half yelling, half crying. I brought the chainsaw down hard into the pile of feeding infected children. The sound of the chain lowered as it tore quickly through flesh, and I moved the blade back and forth, like I was trimming a hedge. The blade skipped and cut into a few of the things, shooting pieces into the lawn, and the group of beasts jumped off Ellie in all directions, running off into the darkness with shrieking wails. Two kids I had hit ran off with large gashes, one was less an arm. Two others were motionless in the grass, soaking the earth with their lifeblood. Ellie was ripped apart. I turned my head away, unable to look at the flayed corpse the monsters had left behind. The thought that Ellie would never get to see her kids again killed something inside me and I dropped to my knees. I could just barely hear the whisper of Clive’s prayers as he stood and watched in horror. A loud unearthly howl came from inside the house, louder than an air raid siren, emanating from the kitchen. Clive turned fast and I looked past him to see Thom and Isabel both standing in the middle of the kitchen with their heads raised to the ceiling, their mouths wide open and bellowing out their indescribable cries like otherworldly wolves. In the darkness around me, I could hear scurrying, small feet running in the crisp summer grass. I held up the chainsaw, unable to figure out which direction they were coming from. Then, out of nowhere, they appeared, probably about fifteen to twenty infected kids, all running through the darkness towards the house. They ran right past me, and Clive stepped out of the way as they ran blindly past him as well and into the house. Then there was a loud crack and bang from the front of the house. I got to my feet and motioned for Clive to come with me and we ran into the woods, flashlights on, caution be damned. We ran into the woods until we couldn’t see the houses anymore. We stopped and fell to the ground, both of us gasping for air. Something rustled in the bushes behind us, and we snapped to attention, Clive with his gun drawn and me with the now humming chainsaw in front of me. Another rustle was followed by a whine. Max stepped slowly out of the brush. We both lowered our weapons and let out a collective sigh of relief. I switched off the chainsaw and got to one knee, calling Max over to me. The dog came over slowly, with its head down, defeated. I patted his back and scratched his head.

  “It’s okay boy. We’ll take care of you." Somehow, the words made me feel better; I wasn’t sure if they helped Max. We heard a distant poof sound, like a quiet thunderclap. I looked up and through the woods, and could make out some sort of light coming from the neighborhood. Clive shone his flashlight around and found a worn path in the woods; we went over to it and started following it. After a short while, the path wound through trees and up a hill, coming out into a clearing in a grassy field. We walked to the center of the field and looked back where we had come from. The bright light of the blaze was visible from our vantage point, but we could barely make out the house under the flames that engulfed it. It raged in the night like a beacon for all to see, and it was followed shortly thereafter by the tormented cries of the infected being consumed with it. Thom had performed his final act of sacrifice for us. For me. In some strange sort of way, I was at least glad he got to end it all with Isabel by his side. He didn’t have to be alone.

  Any positive thoughts I had were waning now. Everyone was being eaten alive by this infection, whether they had it or not. I was starting to lose hope and I was starting to doubt if I would ever see Diane and Jordan again. Survival itself was now in question. Not just for my family or for me, but for everyone.

  We slept that night in the woods. We wrapped ourselves in two thin blankets that Clive had packed and slept under a large tree. We moved two fallen logs onto either side of us to mask our presence. We were far too exhausted to keep going that night, and it was far too dangerous to be roaming around in the dark, not knowing what was ten feet ahead of us. I slept lightly, but with vivid dreams of home and Diane and Jordan. The dreams kept me warm while I lay on the cold ground, the images of my loved ones keeping my mind alert despite the fact that my heart had been drained of hope.

  When I awoke the next morning, I was damp with dew and every joint in my body ached more than I had ever felt. When I opened my eyes, it took a while for my vision to focus, and when it did, and I realized the barrel of an AR-15 assault rifle was only inches from my face. I froze. I turned my head to look at Clive, who was still lying down, but had his hands raised over his head. Half a dozen soldiers surrounded our niche between the fallen logs, all wearing gas masks over their heads. One soldier off to the side was standing over Max, who was lying in the dirt on his side. I could see his ribcage rising and falling, but he was not moving otherwise. One person stepped forward from behind the soldiers, wearing a head to toe white hazard suit, looking at me through the large window of his face shield. He reached out his black rubber-gloved hand to me.

  “You’re going to have to come with us Mr. Collins.”

  CHAPTER 35:

  CONTAINMENT

  I had seen the inside of the GM Centre in Oshawa before, but that had been for concerts. Alice Cooper. Bob Dylan. It looked different now. The whole building was sectioned off with translucent sheets hanging high from the rafters. Clive and I were in handcuffs, being quite rudely pushed through narrow corridors and into a large opening that housed about a hundred portable cots lining the floor in neat rows. Most of them were occupied. Some people looked fine, lying back in their cots, reading books. Others l
ooked tired, worried, and restless. There were people pacing, sleeping, and yelling. This one room full of people ran the gamut of emotional states. The military members took us from one end of the room to the other, and out through another sheet-covered doorway. We were in some sort of medical room now, with gurneys lining the walls instead of cots. But no one in here looked particularly content. Most looked drugged out of their minds. We were ushered past all the gurneys and into yet another room, this one empty but for a large table with one chair on one side and two on the other. We were sat down in the two chairs. After a moment, I realized the handcuffs were really cutting into my wrists now, but then a man walked into the room. He was dressed in a black pinstripe suit, wore silicone gloves and a face respirator. He sat down across the table from us and stared.

  "Well, Mr. Collins, you’ve been having quite the adventure. We heard through our Scarborough Base about your hijinks at the Bramford Apartments, and at the Scarborough Town Centre. It seems you are causing quite a disturbance for us, as if we don't have enough to worry about without renegade civilians looting houses and stores."

  Frankly, I was dumbfounded. Was all this fuss because I took some supplies during a global-scale viral outbreak? Really? This was what their concern was?

  "Listen, I’m just trying to get home to my wife and daughter, that's all. I didn’t take any more than what I needed to survive. And I would appreciate it if you would let me get back to it."

  I figured being straightforward was the way to go. The suited man got up from his chair, took a clipboard from a nearby soldier, signed a few pages, handed it back, and turned back towards us.

  "There are no exceptions to this quarantine Mr. Collins. I am sorry. Once we have established full containment, we would be more than happy to assist you in reuniting with your family. But for the time being, you will stay here."

  With that, the man left the room and two soldiers pulled Clive and me to our feet. We were escorted back to the large room with the cots and dumped on two empty ones they had crammed in to the row. One of the soldiers reached back and removed our handcuffs, and then they both walked away. I glanced around the room again; all the exits were guarded by fully armed military personnel. I rubbed my bruised wrists and turned to Clive.

  "What are we supposed to do now? I can't just stay here."

  A woman sitting on the cot beside Clive's leaned in to us.

  "There's no way out of here, unless you're dead. Trust me, people have tried. We have people dying here every day, heart attacks, strokes, medical conditions they don't have meds for, the flu. Hell, there have even been two murders."

  I chimed in before she could continue. "Thanks for that. You’re really keeping my spirits up."

  With that, she shot me a foul look, then returned to her cot. Clive gave me a bit of a disapproving look as well, but I was pissed off. I didn’t get through everything that happened in the past few days just to end up here. I stretched back on my cot and set my mind to it. I had to get out of here, one way or another.

  That night, after Clive and I ate a mediocre dinner served up by the makeshift military-run kitchen, I was still intent on my plan to get off the base. A few soldiers came into the room and marched to a cot not far from us, uncovering the man who had been sleeping there. They leaned over him for a few moments, mumbling to each other. Another set of soldiers came in the room wheeling a gurney and stopped beside the same cot. The man I had thought was sleeping was rolled into a black plastic body bag on the gurney, zipped up, and wheeled out of the room. No doubt he was destined for the morgue and a nice ride out of this place the next morning.

  I slept lightly that night, trying to keep one ear open for the sounds of the guards. When I heard one of the roving soldiers walk by my cot, I started to cough. The soldier stopped and looked over. She couldn't have been more than twenty years old, and she swung her rifle in my direction. I sat up in bed and gave my best hacking cough, keeping it up until she stepped closer to me.

  "What's going on here? Are you okay?"

  I looked her in the eyes and hoped she took notice of the subtle red coloring I had made from my dinner and applied to under my eyes.

  "I don't feel well, my stomach . . . " I wheezed convincingly.

  "Get up, come with me." She ordered.

  I got up and stayed hunched over, looking as sickly as I could. I walked in front of the soldier as she marched me to the infirmary, which I had noticed earlier was located right next to the access door to the furnace rooms and the temporary morgue. She sat me on a gurney and told me she would get a medic to look me over. As she walked into the next room where the medical staff slept, I got up and moved to the morgue access door, trying it. It didn’t budge, which was expected, but it didn’t mean I had to be happy about it. I got back on the cot just as a medic came in from the sealed off sleeping quarters. The medic was male, about five foot eight and fully geared up in the usual white containment suit. I slumped into the pillow and feigned sleep. The medic walked up to me, asking me if I was awake, to which I did not respond. He took my temperature and listened to my chest, then turned back to the soldier.

  "No fever, but it looks like he passed out. He doesn't look too good though. Leave him be, and I'll check on him again in the morning."

  And with that, the medic went back to the sleeping quarters and the soldier went back to her rounds. After a few moments of listening intently, I opened my eyes and sat up. The room had about a dozen people on gurneys, all asleep, the only sounds breaking through the silence that of the respirators and heart monitors. I swung my feet off the makeshift bed and moved towards the room entrance. There was a small desk; I assume it was for whoever looks after the room usually, but there was no one at it now. I looked in the three small drawers, but found no keys. I silently crept over to the entrance of the sleeping quarters and peered through the small window in the airlock door. The small room held four people from what I could see; three were asleep, and the medic who looked at me sat on the edge of his bed with a glass of water. He set it down beside the bed and lied back, staring at the ceiling. My eyes searched the room, looking for keys, but all I could see were small footlockers by each bed, and a coat rack with assorted scrubs and lab coats hung on it. I heard footsteps behind me and I spun around and ducked. I scurried across the room back to the other door, hunching beside it. The footsteps came closer; they were heavy boot steps. The female soldier stepped back through the doorway and right past me, slowly but uniformly striding into the room. As she passed me, I scooted to my left and out of her line of sight, hiding behind the desk. As I contorted myself into the small space under the desk, my head bumped into something hard and jagged. I reached above my head and felt a cold metal thing on the underside of the desktop. I cranked my head sideways to see a 9mm Beretta handgun strapped to the desk. I carefully popped the clasp on the mounted holster and slid the gun out of the leather holder and into my palm. I stopped and listened for the boots, but I didn’t hear anything. I inched out of the crawlspace and poked my head out to survey the room. The soldier was standing at the end of the cot that was mine, and then she turned around and started looking around the room. I ducked my head back under the desk and listened again as her footsteps slowly came back in my direction and stopped very close to the desk. I angled my head out again and she was standing right in front of me facing the opposite direction. I slid my body out from under the desk, trying desperately to not make a noise. Luckily the sounds of the medical equipment made enough noise to cover any sound I made and within seconds I was standing directly behind her. I pressed the gun barrel into the small of her back.

  "Don't move please. Hold your rifle out to your left side."

  She did so and I removed her sidearm from the nylon holster riding on her hip. I took the rifle as well and laid it on the desktop. I leaned in a little and whispered into her ear.

  "I am so sorry about this."

  I struck her hard on the back of the head with the butt of the Beretta, and she went
down like a sack of laundry. I wasn't sure if that was going to work as well as it does in the movies, but there it was, success.

  I gathered up some cloth bandages and tied her arms and legs, then dragged her behind the desk. I emptied her guns and left them on the floor as well, then searched her fatigues for keys. I found a ring of keys in a small pocket on her belt. Staying as quiet as I could considering my adrenaline levels, I made my way back to the morgue door, and tried a few keys until one made the small click I needed to hear. I moved through the door, shutting it behind me, and made my way down the stairs into the dark basement. It didn’t take long to find the morgue; they had converted a large refrigerated walk-in that was probably meant for storing concession food. I opened the door and entered the cold room, where there were three gurneys with black body bags upon them. I went back out and looked around the basement for the things I would need to make my plan work. I found the medical log for the morgue and carefully changed the number of bodies from three to four, then found an extra black body bag stored away in a cupboard. I grabbed one of the many extra gurneys, wheeled it into the walk-in, shut the door, and zipped myself in for a cold night’s sleep.

  The next morning, the soldier in charge at the GM Centre questioned Clive as soon as they discovered I was missing. They found the soldier I had tied up and questioned her as well, but she said she didn’t see anything. When they asked Clive, he stated that I had a plan to escape the base, and that my plan was to get keys, find an exit, and get as far away from here as I could. After the rehearsing we had done the previous day, he was very convincing. And people don’t tend to doubt a priest. There was a small group of soldiers dispatched to look for me, but they found nothing. I had successfully escaped right under their noses it seemed.

  While all this was going on, I was still in a body bag freezing my ass off. But eventually, I could feel my gurney being moved and various staff at the base talking to each other about my escape. Then I felt some jostling and heard some loud bangs, and finally the sound of a truck engine turning over. It felt like an eternity that I was shifting around in that bag, but in reality it was about thirty minutes. The next thing I heard was the squealing of the brakes and the engine being shut off. The back roll-up door was opened and I could hear the other bags being dragged off the truck. Then I felt mine being tugged at and dragged, followed by a bit of a fall and a hard thud as I hit the ground. I reached up to the small opening I had left in the bag and unzipped the bag far enough for me to look outside. The sunlight stung my eyes, but as they recovered, I saw an overweight man in beige coveralls dragging one of the body bags. He turned away from me and I took the chance and quickly unzipped the bag further. As I was pulling my arms out of it, the man turned back around. Judging from the look on his face, not many of the corpses in the bags he hauled got back up. He went white as a sheet and raised his hands in protest.