Last Pandemic (Book 2): Escape The City

by Westfield, Ryan

  “Bad man!” he screamed, his arm waving back behind him. It was clear that he was trying to indicate that there was some sort of bad man behind him.

  It was impossible not to think that that was what he was running from.

  It was also clear that the man didn’t speak much English.

  The running man was close now. “Go!” he shouted, waving his hand.

  “Que paso? Alguien esta siguiendote?” shouted Jamie, surprising everyone present with an obviously functional command of the Spanish language. To Matt’s ears, her accent even sounded good. But, to be fair, he only really knew a few words and expressions, the main one being, “Verde o rojo?”

  “Hay un pinche chiflado matando a todos”

  “Tiene un arma de fuego o que?”

  “Si, algo como un cuerno de chivo.”

  The man had reached them now and he didn’t stop. He kept running at top speed.

  “What did he say?”

  “There’s a crazy guy killing everyone with an automatic rifle.”

  “You sure?”

  Jamie just nodded.

  Matt glanced back behind him and the Spanish speaker was already long gone, having not slowed his pace in the slightest.

  “What do we do?” said Judy. Both she and Jamie looked at Matt. They expected him to have the answer. They expected him to know what to do.

  But the truth of it was that he had no idea.

  “We can’t turn around,” he said.

  “But we can’t face off with a maniac with an automatic rifle.”

  Matt glanced off to the left, where there was clearly nowhere to go. It was just flat land that wouldn’t serve them well for hiding or avoiding anyone.

  “We’ll have to head a couple miles out on that flat land there to avoid him,” said Jamie, seeming to read Matt’s mind.

  “And it’s tough terrain,” said Matt. “There aren’t going to be any trails out there. The shrubs don’t look like much, but they can be tough.”

  “It’s not like we can turn around,” said Judy.

  “No,” said Matt. “We’ve got to keep going if we’re going to get to your cousin’s place.”

  The three of them were silent for a few moments.

  “I guess he’s the only one who lived through the gunman’s attack,” said Matt.

  It was evident that there was no one else running away.

  “I say we press on,” said Judy. “What do you two say?”

  Matt nodded and looked at Jamie.

  “It’s a big risk,” said Jamie. “But I say we do it.”

  No more words word needed. The three of them shouldered their gear and pressed on, walking single file down the narrow trail on the side of the road.

  Matt didn’t know what to expect. After all, what did it mean to hear that there was a crazy man killing everyone?

  There were many questions. Who was he killing? Why was he killing them?

  There wasn’t a lot of information to go on.

  The only thing they knew for certain was that there was danger up ahead. Of course, they’d known that all along.

  Now they knew that the danger was likely closer than it had been.

  22

  Sara

  Sara screamed as the man dragged her inside.

  He was huge. At first, she didn’t get much more of an impression of him than his size and strength.

  His hands gripped her like vises. There was no way she could escape them.

  The house was dark. He pulled her violently and then released her. She couldn’t fight the intense momentum with her legs and so she tumbled to the floor.

  She managed to break her fall with her hands.

  As Sara looked up, the man towered above her. He seemed to be almost as wide as he was tall, although she knew that that was impossible.

  Fear had overtaken her brain. Rational thought was no longer possible. It was just instinct.

  Instinct told her to flee rather than fight.

  She felt the adrenaline pushing her on, urging her. Her heart was pounding.

  She scrambled forward, away from the front door, crawling like a madwoman. She knew she was just heading further into the house, deeper into the lair. But the front door was blocked by the massive man.

  Sara tried to get up, knowing that she could run faster than she could crawl. But as she tried, she stumbled, tripping on something and fell almost flat on her face. She broke her fall again with her hands.

  Sara felt a hand seize her around the ankle. No time to rise again. Only a moment to try to escape by crawling, trying to claw her way out along the floor.

  But the man was too strong.

  “You’re pretty,” he growled, his voice deep and horrible, his tone verging on monstrous.

  He yanked her easily backward. Her hands formed useless claws that tried to grip the flat floor.

  It was futile. In a split second, she was on the floor beneath him.

  But she’d fight. She spun herself around, so that she faced upward toward him.

  With all the force that she had, she kicked upward toward his crotch, hoping that part of her shin would connect with his testicles.

  It wasn’t a miss, but he blocked her attempt easily with his powerful, tree trunk-like leg.

  “I’m going to have some fun with you,” he growled, his voice barely sounding human.

  She felt fear like she’d almost never known as he grabbed her easily with one hand, pulling her high into the air as if she were nothing but a rag doll.

  Suddenly, a sound came from somewhere inside the house. It sounded like glass shattering.

  The big man seemed to not hear it, or to ignore it and he continued to carry her. She struggled, beating her fists against him, thrashing her legs, twisting her torso, but it all came to nothing.

  Suddenly she saw Will. He stood there, nothing but a knife in his hand. His silhouette looked strange there. Out of place. Frightening, in a way. But she felt hope blossoming in her chest.

  It was a strange sensation. Hope felt foreign to her.

  Will dashed toward them and that’s when the big man became aware of him.

  Will charged with the knife held above his shoulder, the point protruding outward.

  There wasn’t much time to think.

  Everything was happening so fast.

  The big man swung his arms. Instead of just dropping Sara, he actually tossed her to the side.

  He was strong enough that he threw her quite hard and her head collided with the wall. Pain shot through her.

  Sara felt her body clatter to the floor. Her head smashed into the floor and more pain flared through her. She found herself lying there, dazed, looking up at the battle between the big man and Will.

  It seemed to happen in flashes, rather than continuous motion. It was as if she were seeing everything illuminated only by a strobe light.

  One moment Will was striking forward with the knife, jamming it toward the big man’s chest.

  The next moment, the knife was stuck into the big man’s shoulder, sticking out like a thermometer stuck in a Thanksgiving turkey.

  The big man swung with his left arm, his fist striking Will in the side of the head.

  Next thing Sara knew, Will was down, lying prone on the floor, and the big man was raising his massive foot knee-high, about to stomp his head.

  Sara finally found herself moving. Her body moved automatically as she picked herself up. She was still dazed, but now she was active.

  She was going to do something.

  She needed something. A weapon. Her vision was fuzzy as she scanned the room, looking for something, for anything, that she could use against the man.

  The man’s foot slammed into Will’s head. Next there was a sickening sound. Like something being squashed.

  She needed a weapon. Desperately. She was panicking.

  The house was dark, but her eyes were getting adjusted.

  What was there? Some books. An old television set.

  A
marble bookend.

  She dashed over to it, grabbed it. It was heavy and solid in her hand.

  The big man’s foot smashed into Will again. He made no noise. Let out no scream. Made no move to get himself up off the floor. Made no move at all to defend himself against the attack.

  Sara was right behind the big man, the heavy bookend already traveling in a long, high arc up toward the back of his head.

  Before the book end struck him, he seemed to sense her, and spun around.

  The knife was sticking out of his shoulder, its handle wobbling back and forth. He seemed not to notice or be affected by the knife in the least bit.

  He let out a guttural noise. Something between a growl and a scream.

  The book end was already inches from his face. She pushed with her arm, generating as much force as she could.

  The book end smashed right into his face. He was taller than her and it struck him at an odd angle.

  She heard the impact. She felt the jolt in her hand. She heard his teeth clattering in his mouth. She heard something like a snap and in an instant, the massive man collapsed to the floor.

  He almost knocked her over as he fell, but she managed to step back.

  He made a thud on the ground and then everything was silent.

  She could only hear her own breathing.

  “Will?”

  No answer.

  The big man was down. Definitely not getting up. She peered down at his face. His nose was smashed in. His mouth was a bloody mess. His eyes had blood in them. He was dead. Definitely dead.

  She gazed down at Will. It was a horrible sight.

  It was as if her mind couldn’t process it.

  His head was smashed in. Blood everywhere.

  Sara felt sick to her stomach. Immensely sick. She leaned over, clutching her stomach, and started vomiting.

  There wasn’t much food in her stomach. Mostly foul-smelling yellowish liquid came out, mixing on the floor with the blood and gore.

  “Will,” she said, her voice faint.

  This time, she didn’t expect an answer.

  Will was dead. He’d died trying to save her.

  The one person she’d known was now dead. It was like starting the nightmare all over again.

  Why hadn’t he just allowed her to die the first time?

  A curse formed on her lips as anger flashed through her, making her body and skin feel hot, even though the dry air had a coolness to it.

  She looked down at her wrists, which were “bandaged” with the duct tape. In all the commotion, some blood had seeped out.

  She glanced down at the knife that was stuck into the shoulder of the dead man who’d grabbed her.

  Should she do it?

  23

  Joe

  Joe was sitting with his back against the thin, spindly trunk of the large juniper tree.

  The tree had grown large, probably from the water that had flown down the embankment into what was now a bone-dry creek bed.

  Joe turned his head, peering slightly around the tree trunk. No sign of anyone. Not down in the arroyo, or anywhere else.

  Would they pursue him?

  Probably.

  And there was no reason to suspect that they wouldn’t be able to find him.

  He’d have to keep going. Keep running.

  Or should he wait? Try to pick one of them off?

  He wished he had a rifle instead of the shotgun that he clutched. He laid it down, the barrel facing to the east. His hand went to his hip where the holster was.

  He grasped his handgun. Held it up to inspect it.

  A good gun. He’d had it a long time. His left hand ran smoothly across the cool metal.

  He glanced back down to the arroyo. His heart was thumping.

  His mind was strangely calm. Not many thoughts cluttering up the landscape. One stray thought went, “Well, I may die. But there’s nothing to fear. The pain will be brief.”

  Of course, he didn’t know that. The pain might last for an apparent eternity. But the gist of his thinking was, “There’s no point in worrying about it. I’ll deal with the pain if it comes.”

  Someone was there. Down below. Walking through the dry, sand-like dirt, tripping on the dead wood.

  Joe looked again.

  It was a man. He walked hesitatingly. It was clear that he wasn’t familiar with the surroundings.

  Joe would use that to his advantage.

  He waited. Almost holding his breath. Breathing very slightly. Waiting for the man to come into range. Waiting for him to get close enough that he could be sure of his shot.

  Joe steadied his gun with his left hand, aiming down the embankment. Controlled his breathing. Didn’t hold his breath, but let it out eventually and ever-so-slowly. Just the way that he’d practiced. Just the way he knew worked for him.

  Joe pulled the trigger.

  The gun kicked.

  The shot was a good one.

  The man fell.

  Not intending to wait around, knowing that he could now be located easily, Joe sprang to his feet, grabbed his shotgun.

  And went running. Sprinting away from the juniper tree. The ground was flat here. Not even a slight incline.

  Joe wasn’t used to running. He was in shape from manual labor, but he hadn’t spent much time running. He was gasping for breath, feeling like he couldn’t breathe, a sensation that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Where to?

  Up ahead, there was a gravel driveway. Weird. He’d forgotten that it was here. It had been several years since Joe had ventured off his land in this direction and he’d forgotten that someone had built a little house here.

  Who was it? He’d never met whoever it was. Never heard anything about them.

  Joe remembered now. He’d figured it was just another out-of-stater who’d bought up some property, figuring New Mexico to be an idyllic rural spot. Then, when they’d spent a couple weeks here, they’d quickly come up against the reality of rural life.

  The climate could seem pleasant one minute and become incomparably harsh the next, in ways that someone coming from out of state had difficulty predicting.

  Joe couldn’t keep up the sprinting pace. He’d slowed down a little.

  If there was a driveway, there was likely a house, unless the building plans had been seriously stalled.

  His boots hit the gravel.

  Following the driveway, soon he saw the house.

  It was a small adobe house. Looked like the real deal, not that faux-adobe.

  If it had been any other time, Joe might have marveled at how tastefully the house was constructed. It wasn’t too large. Nor too small.

  Nothing about it was trendy. Everything was functional while still looking nice.

  It might have been an ideal, if obvious, place to hole up in, had it been unoccupied. To Joe’s absolute surprise, there was a small sedan in the driveway.

  Someone was home.

  Someone he didn’t know. An unknown neighbor.

  The license plate on the car was out-of-state. Blue and yellow. Not the red and yellow of the New Mexico plates.

  What should he do? Keep going? Try to steal the car? Knock on the door?

  The car’s door was locked. It wasn’t moral anyway. Someone was home. Someone needed that car. Someone who hadn’t done anything to Joe.

  He pounded on the door. He thought of the virus and infection.

  But there were bigger things on his mind. Who cared about possibly getting infected by some hypothetical virus when there were men and women chasing him, intent on killing him?

  And what’s more, what were the chances that whoever lived at this house had contracted the virus? The house was miles from anyone. Someone from out of state had likely come here to get away from everything and everyone.

  Whoever lived there likely not the social type.

  Joe tightened his fist and banged again on the door. Louder this time.

  All of a sudden, the door flew open.

&nbs
p; “What the hell is it?”

  Joe was dumbstruck.

  Even with his adrenaline pumping, even running from death, he couldn’t help being completely taken aback by the beauty of the woman.

  Her hair was long and wild. Blonde and intense.

  She didn’t look angry, despite her words.

  Her lips turned up at the sides in a slight smile, as if she had some intimate secret, something innate that she might share if she felt inspired to.

  All thoughts of the virus flew right out of Joe’s head.

  In the best of circumstances, he would have been lost for words.

  How could this beautiful creature have been his unknown neighbor for so long?

  “Well?” she said, her eyes positively twinkling with something mischievous. “What the hell is it?”

  Again, she didn’t sound angry.

  More curious than anything.

  But, hell, Joe knew he wasn’t exactly a pristine male specimen. Not exactly a catch. More like something the cat dragged in. The years living out on the land, under the sun, in the wind and the snow, had been hard on him. As had the lack of funds.

  Suddenly, he seemed to snap out of it, this daze he was in. He wasn’t on a first date. This was life or death.

  “Let me in,” he finally remembered to say. “They’re trying to kill me.”

  24

  Sara

  Sara stayed in the house for as long as she could stand to.

  The dead bodies seemed to haunt her. They seemed to speak to her. Or maybe she was just going crazy. Maybe she was just stressed.

  Not literally “speaking,” to her, of course. More of a metaphorical sort of thing.

  She didn’t know how many hours had passed. She’d spent them huddled in a corner, elbows around her knees, rocking back and forth.

  She’d debated it all. Living and dying. Killing herself or trying to fight to survive. Remarkably, they both felt, to her, like viable options.

  She didn’t have it. She didn’t have what it took to survive. She didn’t have that spark, that will to live, to push on through whatever the world threw at her.

  She thought she had it. She pretended she had it. After all, she’d decided not to try to kill herself again. She decided to be strong. She decided not to cower in the darkness. She decided to venture forth.