The Plague Runner

by Burgy, P. J.

  She saw a business to the right, the walls mostly intact but the windows shattered. A huge, closed garage door with slit windows belonged to the building, and the name of the mechanic service was worn away and hard to read. Kara quickened her pace, pulling Russell along until they reached the door of the office. She had to leave him to lean on the wall as she opened the door and shined her red light in.

  There was a high desk with a broken computer in the corner, some bucket seats, and a small table covered in old magazines. Dust had covered everything, and there was water damage in the far right corner of the office area, near the single person bathroom, which was empty. Then, she went to look at the garage. She could see through the glass very easily, but it was always better to check first hand. A car had been left behind, jars, cans and a tarp scattered on the floor. The small slits of the windows were growing bright from the rising sun, and she heard him cry out.

  “Fuck,” she whispered.

  She went to him and helped him into the garage. The light of the sun wouldn't reach him in the back, behind the car, but even after she'd gotten him to the floor she felt it best to fasten the tarp over as many of the slits as she could, using the nuts and bolts sticking out of the door to hold the sheet.

  There would be a few patches of sunlight she couldn't keep out near the office, and the glass windows near the front door. If he stayed where he was though, he would be fine.

  He made another gurgling sound, removing his Purger mask and dropping it on the floor, his hands moving to cover his face.

  She approached again, carefully measuring her steps, and staggered back in shock when he lunged at her, teeth bared. Immediately, he pulled back into the dark corner and began to whine, the sound so close to the wailing of an Infected that she was frozen to the spot, her hip against the side of the car. He crouched, hands on his head, rocking forward and back.

  “Help. Help me,” he whispered.

  “Okay, Russ, just, hold still.” She had been dreading the moment when she had to pull the arrow out of him. She'd been looking over at it periodically during their trek through the city, and now, as she got closer to him, she hoped that her gloves were still intact after her fight with Simon. As soon as she got within a few feet of him, he snapped at her again, his movements jerky and strange. She gasped. “Fuck! Russ. It's me.”

  He backed himself into the corner, like an animal, black bile coating his jaw, half of his face obscured by the stuff. She grimaced, hands out, fingers splayed, and tried to inch closer to him again. He opened his mouth, showing her his teeth, and drooled onto the floor. He wasn't there, his eyes now empty, black pits, no trace of humanity left.

  “Okay. Okay.” She took a few steps back and found that he was following after, his eyes tracking her every movement. Focused but absent, his gaze locked. He was hunting her, creeping out from the corner and hugging the ground. “Russell. It's me, Kara. Russ.”

  A high, keening wail began to leave his mouth and he dropped his head, vomiting onto the garage floor. He crawled back into the dark corner. “Get away. Get away.”

  Quickly, she slipped out of the garage, stepping backward into the office. With the sun shining through the window, he wouldn't follow her here. Wrapping her arms around herself, she racked her brain for ideas as she allowed her pounding heart to calm.

  She went outside, exhaling a low sigh, and searched the street. It was quiet in the early morning, the air still chilly and the breeze light. The sky was turning a shade of blue as her eyes moved across the broken down cars and busted in shop fronts until she saw something. Yards away, she saw it shuffling down the street, a black and white mess of fur in a hurry to forage for food during the day. She had the same idea in mind.

  “If you kill them quick enough, they don't spray. But I didn't, so, I'm sorry. Still smells better than you.” Kara called into the dark garage and then tossed the dead skunk in, aiming toward Russell's shadowy corner. She didn't even hear the plump body hit the floor, but she did hear him eating it. The crunching and slurping upset her stomach and she left, heading back outside to look around at the shops again.

  She waited about fifteen minutes before going back in and found him sitting away from the corner but still in the shadow of the car. He had wiped his face clean, and she saw the rag in his hand, soiled. The arrow had already been removed and was on the ground beside him. She sighed in relief, and then came over, stopping a few feet away. The smell of the skunk was not as bad as she thought it would be, though the tufts of fur everywhere were not a comforting sight. Neither were the bones near the wheel of the car and he kicked them away when he saw her eyes drift over the skunk 's remains.

  “Thank you.”

  “I wanted to check on you before I went for a supply run.”

  “It isn't safe.”

  “I'll be okay," she said. “These clothes aren't going to cut it anymore. Neither are yours. We have to move, and I can't wait for nightfall. You'll need a new helmet or mask. I'll need a weapon.”

  “Move? Where?” He looked up at her, his face screwing up. “Are you serious? After all that? Are you kidding me?”

  “I'm serious,” she told him. “I need your help, Russell.”

  “Helping you almost got me killed.”

  “I know, and I'm sorry. But I need you.”

  He nodded, grunting. “Because I know the city.”

  “Yeah. So, will you?”

  He glared up at her.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “Fine,” he muttered.

  She eyed him, incredulous. “Really?”

  “Yeah, I've been thinking of killing myself recently.” He grunted again and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed. “No better way than to do it by being a good Samaritan.”

  “You aren't going to die.” She turned away.

  “Then what's the point?”

  “I just need you to get me as deep into the city as you can, to the very heart. I need to find something. A sign of them. Anything. What I really need to find is this hive. Meredith. Whoever she is, she probably has them. Can you take me to her?”

  “I don't know where this hive is. But I can take you into the heart of the city.”

  She tilted her head. “Do you know who Meredith is?”

  “I've heard of her, but I don't really socialize with... others.”

  “Others like you, you mean?” she asked.

  “Mm.”

  “Never in all your time here, you've never met her?” She frowned.

  “No.”

  “All right. Then, just get me there.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Thank you for your help. What are you? A large? Extra large?”

  “Are you asking for my pants size?”

  “Yeah.”

  He laughed.

  She returned an hour or so later, her arms filled with clothing, a heavy bucket of fresh water hanging from the crook of her arm. The sun was up and bright, the day beautiful and the clouds scarce but fluffy in the blue sky. Large bird hovered above, resting on the buildings around the garage, and she felt her stomach turn as the fresh scent of the outside world turned to the stink of the Infected when she stepped into the office.

  “There was a sports shop, and a clothing store. I don't know, I grabbed what I could. If it fits you, great. If not, then I guess you'll have to deal with it for a while,” She called into the dark garage. She went in, setting the pile on the long work table against the wall, having to push aside some jars and tools in order to do so.

  The black bike helmet had a dark visor, the little 'UV Protected' sticker easily peeling off as she pushed it to the side. She sorted through his lot of clothing and folded them again, placing them in a separate pile. She had gotten him a black jacket and turtleneck, a pair of pants and boots as well.

  Then, her own things she put to the right, sorting through the clothing and checking the sizes again. She glanced to the left to see him standing there, brushing himself off and staring
at her in the low light. She set the bucket of water on the floor.

  “As long as the pants fit, I'm happy,” he told her.

  “Well, go on.” She nodded to the pile of clothing and he took them, retreating back to his corner. He removed the frock, tossing it to the ground.

  She unfolded her new shirt and then became distracted at the movement to the left of her. She found herself watching him. He took off his ruined shirt, throwing it down, and spread the new clothes out across the trunk of the car.

  The sunlight filtering in through the grimy garage window was just strong enough to let her see him, Russell staying within a careful range to avoid being burned. In the low light, it wasn’t immediately apparent that there was anything unusual or wrong with him. On the contrary, he was fantastically built, with strong, muscular arms, sharp pelvic bones, and a toned stomach. If he had told her that he did a thousand sit ups a day and bench pressed car engines, she’d have believed him.

  Kara was reminded of Gencho’s gym equipment and wondered if the Infected even really needed to exercise. Those bodies came with the illness, it was part of what made them so deadly. The muscles of the sick and fevered bulked, grew strong. Or, sometimes it was slender thing, the muscles lean like thick ropes of wire twined again and again. And, in some cases, the Wailers became hulking beasts, rage fueled monsters that overturned tanks and ripped people in two.

  In the low light, she couldn’t even see the hint of his dark veins under his pale skin, subtle as it was to begin with. It was plain to see that he cut his own hair, the dirty blonde a choppy mess. He looked over at her, aware that she was sizing him up, and she was struck by his chiseled face before meeting his eyes. Up until now, she hadn't looked at him, had she? Not really. She hadn't had the time to just study him. When she met his bloodstained eyes though, it instantly reminded her that he was an Infected.

  He blinked at her, tilting his head curiously. “What?”

  “Hm. I don’t know. Just thinking, you’re not too bad looking for a Wailer,” she said.

  He smiled at her, brows knit together briefly before he began to raise an eyebrow. He smirked, parted his lips and began to form a word, only to make a terrible, wet, belching sound and vomit thick black goop down his chest. He bent over, turning away. The smell was gag inducing and she covered her lower face with the crook of her arm.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, spitting up sticky tendrils of phlegm. “Dammit. Dammit.”

  “No, no, it’s okay.” She squinted, stepping back and putting a few more feet between them. She coughed, nose buried into her sleeve. “Does that happen a lot?”

  He used his old shirt from the floor to wipe his face and chest. He looked mortified. His black eyes traced over her face and she could see his vexed expression. He licked his lips, the oily texture of the black bile hard to cleanly wipe away, leaving shiny residue on his chin and chest.

  Glancing at his messed shirt and then to her once more, he cleared his throat, making some soft gagging noises. “It happens often enough. That was disgusting. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sure you can’t help it, Russ.” She continued to cover her nose with her arm until she saw him looking away and clenching his jaw. He wiped at his face again, more aggressively this time, and then threw the balled up shirt to the ground. She lowered her arms to her side, fighting the urge to throw up, and shrugged. “It didn’t ruin the moment for me.”

  He tried to smile again, flashing teeth and letting out a dry chuckle. “Just one of the many perks of being me. At least my stink hides your scent from the wild ones.”

  “You don’t stink. That bad.”

  “And you’re a terrible liar.” He shot her a look and then reached for his new shirt. He put it on, one arm, then the other, then his head. It fit well, looked good on him, and he tugged the fabric down. “You going to watch me drop trou’ too? I mean, I don’t really care, but-”

  “Oh,” she said. “Didn’t you want to maybe rinse off first? I can wet a towel...”

  He sighed. “Sounds wonderful, but like I said, I need to mask your scent.”

  “Skunk'll do that.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Sure. Do what you do. I won’t watch. I’m going to clean off and get dressed,” she said.

  “Well, I’ll be courteous and not stare at you.” He took a few steps away from where he’d been standing to stand on the other side of the row of trashcans and boxes, obscuring his lower half before looking at what Kara had brought him. “I was going to ask, but, you did, so, thank you.”

  He was referring to the fact that she had the foresight to grab a pair of boxer briefs from the ransacked store. “Figured it would be more comfortable than not, right?”

  He smirked, then chuckled, turning away from her to change.

  She found a spot not too far from the open door. She could wash herself in total darkness of course, but there was something comforting about the warm light that fell across her back as she wadded up her old shirt and tossed it into one of the open trashcans right next to her.

  She set her sneakers to the side carefully. She unfastened her belt, dropped her shorts, stepped out of them, and bundled them up. Her leggings were off next, thrown away as well. Removing her socks, she felt the cool cement under her bare feet, wriggling her toes in response.

  She’d gotten a new set of everything and didn’t feel bad at all for discarding the old, gross stuff. She could imagine some seamstress at a fort town having a conniption at the waste, but she couldn’t stand the sweat stiffened fabric any longer. She smelled too, felt dirty. The used clothes all had to go.

  Curiosity struck her. “Russ?”

  “Hm?”

  “What do I smell like?” she asked.

  “Do you really want to know?” His reply sounded flat.

  She turned, saw him averting his gaze as he finished getting dressed, and noted how he tried to keep his back to her. “Yeah.”

  “You smell like the best thing I’ll never taste," he said.

  “Oh. Wow.” She turned away, eyebrows lifting, and then reached down to grab a wet rag from the bucket. The water was cool and shocked her system as she began to wash herself off, but the lovely sunlight baked her skin and warmed her back up. As she rinsed off, she turned to look at him once more. He was facing away, sitting on one of the boxes. “Do all people smell like that? I mean, people who aren’t Infected.”

  “To varying degrees. I don’t know,” he replied. “Until you came along, I’d done a pretty fine job avoiding people.”

  “Have you ever eaten someone?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “I asked, have you-”

  “I heard you.” He cut her off and then exhaled.

  “So, have you?”

  “Do I need to answer that?”

  “I’m sorry.” She wrung the rag out in the bucket, crouching on the floor. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just wanted to know, since, you know…”

  “Since we’ll be traveling together, and you want to know if I’ll try to take a bite?” His tone was jagged, and he snorted, twisting around to give her a scathing look only to see more of her than he’d anticipated. She saw his eyes widen. He whipped right around again, facing the wall. After a few seconds, he spoke again. “Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

  “I don’t think you would.” She dried herself off with the towel and then got dressed. It was a quick process, and he was still facing away. “Take a bite, I mean. You seem better glued than that. It feels crazy when I say that, totally nuts, but I think you're safe.”

  “Well, thanks, I guess.”

  Not sure how to read his response, she went silent.

  She wished she’d had a better selection, but it was what it was. The thick hunting vest was an ugly brown shade, lumpy with too many flaps for her liking, and the long sleeved turtle-neck was an equally ugly olive green. At least the khaki shorts were comfortable and the black leggings soft.

  Getting changed a
round other people had never bothered Kara, having spent most of her young life living in such close quarters with three other people. Three males, one of which she had witnessed experience the miracle of puberty. Tengen and his cracking voice, his extended teenage awkward phase that transformed him into an awkward man.

  Gencho, already a young man when she’d joined them, bumping heads with Renshen over the smallest of things but then stewing silently in defeat, his pride and his loyalty in direct conflict with one another. Who would then take out his frustration by turning his attention to Kara, wanting to train her to fight, holding his standards too high, and pushing her so hard that she found herself both hating and loving him at the same time.

  It had never seemed strange until now, because she’d never found herself in close proximity with someone in a situation like this who wasn’t familiar to her. Even when she changed after a run, it was around a guard she’d known for years, around a friend. It had never occurred to her that someone might find it out of the ordinary.

  Russell had been staring at the wall now for the last ten minutes, so Kara cleared her throat after she tied her sneaker strings. “Did you want to hit the road?”

  He glanced back at her, saw she was fully dressed, but did not move. Instead, he studied her and then turned back to the wall. “Why not rest a bit? Sleep? I need to, and I am sure you do too.”

  “I don’t want to waste too much of the day. That’s why I brought you the helmet and-”

  “I need to rest, Kara. Please,” he repeated.

  “Okay, fine.” She slapped her sides and placed her hands on her hips. She found a place to sit near the corner of the garage, near the tarp and paint buckets.

  She was in the middle of getting comfortable when he spoke again. “Outside. You should sit outside.”

  “Not in here?”

  “Not in here," he said.

  “Why?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Because I want to be alone, all right?” He slid off of the boxes to the floor and suddenly she couldn’t see him. He had tucked himself away in the corner, farthest from the window, and had buried himself in the shadows.