Class of 1989: A Post Viral Apocalyptic Story

by Jack Hunt

  Out of breath he answered. “I separated the burners from the rest of the group. The one who lost her sister didn’t take too kindly to that and decided to smash one of the windows, drawing the attention of more inside.”

  Below they could still hear the sound of pounding on the door.

  “That won’t hold for long,” Abe said.

  “My wife.”

  “They’re okay. At least as far as I know they are all locked inside the gymnasium.” He looked out across the town. “How far did Miles and the others make it?” he asked.

  “Over to Main Street before burners showed up.”

  “Shit. Did they get them?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Abe clenched his jaw. “Damn it.”

  “Well, we need to get off this roof and fast,” Grady said hurrying over to the nearest ledge. “Across the way is Bruno’s. I think we can make it.”

  “You are out of your mind.”

  Grady wasn’t waiting for him to make a decision; he was already climbing down a drainpipe. “Throw down the drone to me,” he said once his boots hit the ground. Abe tossed it to him and looked back as if wondering whether they would stand a better chance staying on the roof. Something convinced him otherwise. Within seconds he was down on the ground and the two of them double-timed it away from the school. “How many rounds you got left?”

  “Not enough,” Abe shouted. “Maybe half a mag.”

  By the time they reached Bruno’s Country Club, less than 500 feet away, Abe had blown through that mag. It felt like he was navigating an obstacle course as Grady darted one way only to be driven the other by another burner that came out of a doorway, or around a corner. His heart felt like it was on fire.

  In the distance they could hear Frank yelling to them.

  “Come on!”

  “What the fuck do you think we’re doing?” Grady yelled back. He bounded up onto a crate and then onto a dumpster. He handed the drone to Frank, then a buddy of his extended a hand and pulled him up. Abe wasn’t far behind. He managed to get on the dumpster but one of them grabbed his leg as Frank was trying to pull him up. Seizing the moment, Grady scooped up a shotgun that was lying on the roof, slid down on his belly and fired a round into the burner’s face. His jaw exploded in a mist of red. As soon as he let go they dragged Abe onto the roof. The first thing he did was check his leg for scratches.

  “Holy shit. That was close.”

  “I figured you were the smart one hanging back while those dumbass friends of yours sprinted through the town. Why would you…” His answer came quick at the sight of multiple burners emerging on the roof of the school.

  “Does that answer your question?” Abe asked rising to his feet.

  Grady handed back the shotgun to Frank.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Now anyone want to tell me what the fuck is going on? I thought Beau Hardin was behind this. You know, retribution against burners and whatnot.”

  “A little hard for that. Beau is dead,” Abe said taking a seat on the brown shingles. The roof was slanted at a 45-degree angle, it couldn’t have been more than 15 feet off the ground. Certainly within jumping distance if anyone saw them. Frank gestured for them to go closer to the front of the building where they could take cover behind large vents.

  “How did he die?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine but then this happened.”

  “Do you know what’s going on?”

  “No one does. All we know is some event occurred up at Burning Man. From what we’ve been able to conclude before communication and the internet got clogged up, a pandemic has occurred across the United States.”

  Frank shook his head and frowned. “Big cities, I can see that happening, but Gerlach?”

  “Burning Man is one big city.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  Abe ignored him and slowed his breath. A bright blue sky stretched above them with a burning hot sun that was increasing the heat with every passing hour. “We are going to cook out here if we don’t find some shade. Were you out here all night?” Grady asked.

  “Got cold but it was better than facing those down below.”

  Abe slung him a glance. “How many?”

  “How many? How the hell would I know… I didn’t stick around to count. I grabbed my gun and me and my son bounced the hell out of there through the side door but the streets were full of them. We had no choice but to get on the roof and hope to God that no one spotted us. We were about to leave this morning when we saw you two. Now thanks to you we’ll be over—”

  “Overrun? That’s what happened to us. My wife is still in the school. And those dumbasses you mentioned — they’re trying to better our situation.”

  “You sure about that? Was that guy in his truck last night trying to do that? Yeah, we saw him. What an idiot.”

  While Frank continued to harp on at Abe, asking what the police were doing, or better still, not doing — Grady introduced himself to Frank’s son, Josiah. He was a clean-cut guy, no older than twenty-five, with black hair that was pulled back into a man bun. He had a few stone beads around his neck, along with a cross.

  “You know Frank, Washoe County is a big place. Gerlach only makes up a tiny sliver of the area we patrol. You’re lucky that any of us are here right now.”

  “But there should be more than you.”

  “Should be but there isn’t. Your answer is down below.”

  “And my taxes pay your wages?”

  “Oh I’m sorry, I’ll cut you a check as soon as the bank is open.”

  “Um guys,” Grady muttered. “I think we should get inside and fast.” He pointed over to the roof where some of them were scanning the area.

  “I don’t get it, what do they want?” Frank asked.

  “To kill you,” Grady said.

  “We have that part figured out, Einstein. The question is why?”

  “Miles thinks it might have something to do with insects.”

  Frank’s brow furrowed. “Insects. What the hell?”

  Abe shrugged. “Something about insect-borne diseases.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “It would if you were in Black Rock City on Sunday. According to the burners there was a swarm of bugs that appeared. It wasn’t long after that this happened.”

  Frank listened carefully but it was clear he was having a hard time connecting the dots. The truth was they couldn’t exactly ask these burners why they were doing it.

  Grady looked back at the school and watched as some of the burners on the roof disappeared inside the building. His mind went to his wife, the others and how long they could hold out before burners broke into the gymnasium.

  Ten - Misconduct

  Hal wouldn’t let up even as he speared the throat of a burner with the sharp end of a chunk of steel. “Now I remember why we never used to play hide and seek when we were kids — you were crap at it,” Hal said, bellowing at Nate. “Go in the RV, he says. We’ll be safe in the RV, he says. I’m glad to see that despite all your military training, Nate, you still are awful at the art of stealth.” Nate flipped the bird just as a window smashed at the far end and two burners attempted to scramble in, cutting themselves in the process.

  “A little help,” Nate called out.

  Hal rushed down the narrow aisle and launched a front kick at one of them. His boot struck a young guy in the gut and the kid went straight back out. “I mean all that time overseas, serving besides America’s best and you…”

  Nate snapped, “Fuck you, Hal.”

  “Hell, I’m surprised the military didn’t kick you out for being a liability.”

  “They did. Okay? They did.”

  Hal paused for a second and looked at him.

  “What?

  “Watch out!” Nate yelled. Hal reacted without even looking, stabbing another in the chest and ending the siege on the RV.

  After the group had split, they’d found themselves over on
Elm Street. That’s when Nate spotted an RV that was open. They’d hightailed it over thinking they hadn’t been spotted. They hadn’t until Nate knocked over a vase on the table. For the past twenty minutes they’d been doing everything in their power to prevent being torn apart.

  Now, as the last of them lay choking on blood, Hal slumped down on a plush couch, staring at Nate as he checked both ends and made sure there were no more coming.

  “But you said you…” he trailed off.

  Nate looked at him. “I lied. Okay?” He shook his head as he ran a hand around the back of his sweaty neck. “I would have done anything to stay in.” Nate looked through the RV, lost in thought. “I loved everything about serving my country and being a soldier but… it was killing me. The flashbacks, the nightmares and the crippling anxiety. It was awful.” He took a deep breath. “But you know the worst part?”

  Hals shook his head.

  “It wasn’t for misconduct that they discharged me even though that’s what the paperwork shows.” He looked down at his feet, a sense of humiliation washing over him, as the memories of serving his country came flooding in. “I had to secretly record my sessions with my military-issued therapist. Can you believe that? Yeah. When I was there telling them about my fears and suicidal thoughts which by the way came from numerous concussions. I had to record them for proof because instead of listening to me and discharging me for medical reasons, they berated me for even suggesting that I had anxiety, or PTSD. They tried to convince me that my experiences in Iraq weren’t traumatic — shit, they didn’t even look at me, Hal, when I told them I was thinking of committing suicide.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Nate, I’m sorry.” Hal brought a hand up to his face and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Shit. So all that talk about leaving the military and doing work in security?”

  “Just talk.”

  “Why? Why, Nate? Did you think we’d think less of you?”

  Nate raised his eyebrows.

  Hal nodded, although he didn’t want to believe it, he understood because in some way he’d felt like that prior to their arrival. Though it had been years since he’d been a session drummer, it meant a lot, it felt like it mattered more than the menial work he’d been doing as of late. Though instead of hiding it from the others, he just told them outright. Why couldn’t Nate do the same? Hal looked out where the window used to be. Shards of glass and streaks of blood were all over the table. “I don’t get it. I mean, not you, but why they went the route of misconduct, and what was the grounds?”

  “Drunk driving, they said, but that was a few years before I started seeing my therapist. Can you believe that?”

  “Were you?” Hal asked.

  Nate balked at the question. “No. I mean, I had one drink. Look, if they wanted to toss me out they would have done it then, years before I brought all this up. Convenient, right? So instead of helping me, they dragged my past up and found one thing and used that against me. If I had said nothing I would have still been in the military. No one believed me until my lawyer brought it to higher-ups and then they ordered an investigation. And lo and behold… they concluded that I had been mistreated, and the therapists were reprimanded. Not discharged, reprimanded. If it wasn’t for another six war vets who came forward and were also interviewed, I’m not sure my case would have been heard. It seems at that time the Army was more interested in discharging under the umbrella of misconduct than mental health. And because of that I was denied retirement and health care benefits which usually go to those who get an honorable discharge.”

  “So they can avoid payout?”

  “Maybe, or maybe it prevents them from giving intensive treatment or medical retirement for persistent mental problems. The truth is, Hal, it takes a lot less time and money to just get rid of guys like myself on the grounds of misconduct than to discharge me with TBI.” He poked the wall with a large, bloody two by four. “Fact is, me and the others aren’t alone. After they concluded their investigation they found there had been thousands of soldiers like me that have returned from Iraq and have been diagnosed with mental health issues or traumatic brain injuries, but instead of helping, they are just discharging them under some form of misconduct.”

  Hal got up and walked to the far end and looked out the window to check if the coast was clear. “So what about that business you started?”

  “I attempted it but couldn’t get it off the ground.”

  “So how have you been paying bills?”

  “I haven’t.”

  Hal gave him a confused look then the penny dropped.

  “You’re homeless?”

  Nate nodded.

  “Nate. How long?”

  He hesitated.

  “Nate.”

  “Two years.”

  Hal’s jaw dropped. “But you were online.”

  “Library.”

  “And those photos?”

  “From before.”

  Hal couldn’t believe it. “Why didn’t you call me? Man, I had a bed you could have used. You could have worked with me doing carpentry.”

  “I didn’t want to impose.”

  Hal sighed, then his eyes welled up. “Well that settles it. If we get out of this alive, you’re staying with me. It’s a done deal. And I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Nate smiled and Hal came over and put a hand around the back of his neck and slapped it a few times. “Shit, man. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Mrs. Parish studied his face with a deadpan expression before bursting out laughing. “Insects? You think this came about because of insects?”

  “Not exactly. Again, it’s just a theory.”

  “Because of the program with the Pentagon.”

  “No, because one of my friends…” he stopped and waved her off. “Forget it.” Miles rose to his feet and went over to the garage door. “We need to get moving.”

  “And how do you suppose to do that? Have you seen how many are out there?”

  “Trust me, if there was a faster way, I would take it.”

  “There is,” she said. She got up and shuffled across the garage to a vehicle covered with a thick cream-colored tarp. She clamped two meaty paws on the top and gave it a yank to reveal a classic muscle car.

  “A 1969 Mustang,” Molly said, running a hand over the Acapulco blue hood with a shaker hood scoop and chrome wheels.

  “You know much about it?” Mrs. Parish asked.

  “Oh yeah, classic cars are one of my passions.”

  “I never knew that,” Miles said.

  Molly eyed him across the top as she wandered around it, mesmerized by its beauty. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Miles.” She tapped the top. “A V8 engine, four-speed manual transmission, dual exhaust, 290 horsepower and 290 pounds of torque. Yeah, I would say this is fast enough but Mrs. Parish—”

  “It was Harold’s.” She looked back at him. “Don’t think he’ll be using it anymore and I was only planning on selling it off when he…” She stopped short of saying “died.” She gave a pained expression.

  Molly came around and placed a hand on her. “We couldn’t. There’s a lot of money in a car like that. You’re retired.”

  “Was retired. Look, I’m a realist, I always have been. The young and the old are usually the first to succumb to any pandemic. Take it. I want you to use it.”

  At that point Miles stepped in. “If vehicles could get people out, I think they would have left by now.”

  “Come with us,” Molly said.

  Mrs. Parish turned as she shook her head. “No. My place is with Harold.” She took a seat beside him and squeezed his hand. His eyes wandered. How much he was processing was hard to know but the idea of driving out with his baby just didn’t seem right.

  “There may still be hope,” Miles said.

  “Yes, yes there is. I’m counting on you, Miles. Make your old teacher proud, okay?”

  He smiled and looked at Molly.

  “Here.”
Mrs. Parish leaned over and took keys off a small table and tossed them to him. “Go on now before I change my mind.”

  “We’ll bring it back. I promise.”

  “Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”

  As she said that, Miles thought of Jenna. Molly hopped in the driver’s side while he rode shotgun. Mrs. Parish went over to the garage door and looked over at them. “You ready?”

  They nodded.

  She inched open the garage, dropping down onto her hands and knees to look outside. Once it was wide open, Molly fired up the engine and it roared to life like a lion. Molly stuck it in gear and screamed out of the garage. Miles slammed back into his seat as it shot off like a rocket, tearing away from the garage and swerving onto the street. She almost lost control of the back end as it spun. Smoke and grit billowed up as they tore down the street, slaloming around rolled trash cans, burnt-out vehicles and… Molly slammed the brakes on as they came around a corner and face to face with what seemed like fifty burners clustered together.

  “Back up.”

  She stuck it in reverse and the tires squealed as they zoomed backward at a high rate of speed. She slammed the brake while turning and it spun on a dime.

  “Holy shit. I thought you said you were an architect?”

  “I am on the weekdays.”

  She smashed the accelerator to the ground and they took off weaving through the streets heading up Del Ora Avenue then hanging a left up Elm. That’s when they spotted them dashing through a backyard.

  “Whoa. Hold up. That’s Nate and Hal.”

  “Hold on,” Molly cried out. Miles had already embedded his fingers into the seat’s leather. They did a U-turn in the road and she took it through a locked fence, smashing up the front end. She looked over. “I did warn her,” she said with a grin. The tires kicked up so much dust, it looked like they were in a cloud of grit. She stopped it at the last second, almost taking out Hal’s legs.

  He slammed his hands onto the hood and looked at both of them through the windshield. Miles saw him mouth the words, “What the…” then he cursed and came around.

  “Need a ride?”

  “Where the hell did you get this, Jonesy?”