Survive (Day 4)

by A. R. Wise

  Promises of help followed the assault, but Red was already driving away. The helper rolled off the back of the car, but more of them emerged from the neighborhood to give chase. One foolish little man walked into the road, waving knives high in the air as if that could convince Red to slow down. It barely compelled Red to squint before plowing the man down. The helper collided with the bumper, then the windshield before falling in a heap to the pavement.

  The sturdy squad car didn’t even get a scratch, and soon Red was driving away. He took a hard right back on the street where he’d first stolen the car, and headed away from the school. He rolled down his window and started to scream out, “June!” He slowed, but the helpers were quick to answer his call. They came from every direction, eager to help.

  Red planned to continue like this, driving through the crowd to another safe spot to scream out for June, but then he heard a gunshot. The sound stilled him at first, but after the second shot struck his back window, he hit the gas and sped through the neighborhood, desperate to get away.

  “June, I’m sorry. Please be safe.”

  He drove off, uncertain what other option he had.

  Day Four – 1:28 am

  “No, no, no, don’t leave,” said June as she watched Red’s squad car drive away. “Goddamn it.”

  She was hiding upstairs in a house a couple blocks away from the school. The helpers had seen her run this way, and were searching the area when Red came by in the squad car screaming her name. His distraction had earned the helpers’ attention, but only momentarily. Now they would come back to search the houses, and she needed to find a place to hide.

  She was in a teenage girl’s room, evidenced by the abundance of dirty clothes on the floor and posters of bands tacked to the walls. There was a closet, but it was too small to hide in. The floor was littered with spent casings. The helpers had staged an attack here, firing upon the police and military that’d occupied the school. She wondered how many other houses bore similar evidence.

  “Psst,” whispered a man from the hall.

  June yelped and then jumped back a step. “Stay away.”

  His silhouette all but blended with the darkness. He held something metallic, and pointed it her way. He motioned at her, though she couldn’t tell what he hoped to convey. “Come on,” he whispered angrily.

  “Who are…”

  “Come with me or they’re going to find you.”

  She squinted, hoping to get a better look at him. “Who are you?”

  “I live here. This is my house. Now come on, or I’m going to leave you here.” His faint visage disappeared suddenly, melding back into the shadows.

  The sound of helpers returning to the neighborhood compelled her to follow the stranger into the hall. Her vision grew more accustomed to the dark, but she was still wary as she watched the man grab hold of what looked like a string. He pulled down, which released a set of accordion stairs. He headed up, and beckoned her to follow.

  She hurried up after him, and entered the attic where two other survivors were huddled. There was a girl who looked to be in her late teens or early twenties with her arms around a younger girl, possibly seven. They sat on plywood that’d been laid over the slats, above the pink insulation that ran like meat between ribs. The dullest of light snuck in through a vent that they’d opened to stare outside, but the storm stole the stars and moon, and offered only splashes of wetness as the heavy raindrops were driven by wind to slap against the siding. Several planks of plywood offered secure footing, and there were stacks of supplies, blankets, and pillows, as if the three of them planned on staying here for a while.

  It smelled of smoke from the burning school. Not Fall’s evocative scent of burning wood or leaves, but the carcinogenic stench of melting plastic and paint.

  “We’re safe up here,” said the father in a whisper that was nearly lost behind the pounding of rain. He lifted the ladder by a rope, and it accordioned into place over the opening. After closing the hatch, he raised the ladder enough to slide a dowel rod beneath, preventing the door from opening again. “Just stay quiet, and we’ll be okay.”

  “Thanks. I’m June.” She held out her hand.

  He didn’t shake it. “Did you get infected? Did they stab you or bite you or anything like that?” His hand was on a pistol grip at his side.

  “No.”

  “Why’re you bleeding?” He sounded panicked as he looked at her arms and legs. The razor wire at the school had sliced her up.

  “This wasn’t them. I swear.”

  “Dad…” The older girl spoke fretfully. “I told you not to let her up here.”

  “I promise I’m not infected. I got cut trying to get over a wall. I didn’t…”

  “All right.” The father used his pistol to point towards the far end of the attic. “You go over there. Stay away from us. Stay there, and stay quiet. I’ll find you some bandages.”

  “She’s going to tell them we’re here,” said the older girl.

  “I won’t.”

  “Dad, we can’t trust her.”

  “Allie, hush,” he said while digging through the supplies. He found a roll of gauze, and tossed it to June. After that, he walked precariously along the slats to stand beside the vent. He leaned in close to listen, and the rain misted his face. He put his index finger to his lips, and looked at each of them to pass on the message to be quiet.

  June stayed in her corner, silent and unmoving. A door creaked, and then shut. Muted voices came from below as helpers began a cursory search. Feet clopped on stairs, and then down the hall below the attic’s entrance. The voices grew louder, but June was only able to decipher snippets.

  “…third to the left…”

  “…can smell blood. Do you smell that?”

  “Floor’s wet.”

  Then one of them yelled, “We’re going to find you. Come on out. We’re here to help.”

  The older daughter glared at June from across the attic, her hateful stare barely visible in the dark.

  Furniture was being moved and belongings thrown aside as the helpers searched the home. June watched the dowel rod that held the stairs in place, waiting for it to rattle as the helpers tried to open the hatch.

  Then, without explanation, the helpers gave up. Their feet clopped on the stairs, the front door slammed shut, and they went on to the next home. June and the family stayed quiet for a long time, too afraid to speak.

  Eventually, the youngest girl asked, “Are they gone?”

  “I think so,” said her father. “But we’re going to want to still be quiet. Okay, kiddo?”

  She nodded, her curls bouncing.

  The father had been standing beside the vent throughout the entire search, and only now relaxed. He sat beside his girls while looking at June. “I’m Roy, and these are my daughters, Allie and Rose.”

  “I’m June. Thanks for saving me.”

  “It’s okay. I was downstairs getting ammo when you came in. I thought you were one of them. Damn near shot you.” He chuckled while nervously considering his pistol. “You’re the one that guy was looking for. The one in the squad car.”

  “Yeah, that was my boyfriend. He probably thinks I’m dead – or ‘helped’, I guess. Infected.”

  “But you’re not, right?” asked Allie with an accusatory tone.

  “No, I swear.”

  “Were you at the school?” asked Roy.

  “Yes.”

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I’m not really sure. We were brought there to get screened. They locked us in a classroom, and then all hell broke loose.”

  “We heard,” said Roy.

  “The infected were shooting at the cops and the soldiers. I didn’t think they’d do that.”

  “Neither did I,” he said.

  “Every time we saw them before, they came at us with knives.”

  “Not anymore,” he said. “Yesterday they started showing up in town, pretending they weren’t infected, and then they start
ed taking potshots at cops. Before they seemed – I don’t know, animalistic almost. Like zombies. But then they started to organize. We could hear some of them planning an attack, but there was nothing we could do to warn anyone. We were stuck up here. There were about five of them in the house, shooting from the windows.”

  “It was awful,” said the older daughter.

  “But we’re safe,” said Roy in an attempt at reassurance. “We’re fine.”

  “What do we do now?” asked June. “Should we stay here and wait?”

  “We’ve got food and water,” he said, motioning to the supplies. “We’ll stay here until its safe.”

  “And when will that be?” asked Allie.

  Roy couldn’t answer, and looked at June solemnly.

  Day Four - 7:30 am

  Porter had been tranquilized and shackled. Visions of men in lab coats came to him amid flashes of silver – the gleam of metal. Cold, hard surfaces. The stench of bleach, and the buzz of electronics. Once there was a beeping heartbeat, and wires reaching across his chest like strands of a giant spider’s web. He jerked his arm, but found it locked in place. Then pain shot through his neck, intense and fast, searing heat that raged through his veins and into his heart. A man stood at his side with an unidentified, cylindrical tool. Suddenly, Porter was unconscious again.

  Next came the smell of grass, and the wetness of dew on his cheek. He opened one eye, and saw an expanse of lawn ahead.

  He tried to speak, but his words came forth in a nonsensical jumble followed by a stream of drool. His fingers splayed on wet earth, the blades of grass rising between. He gripped, and tore some of the grass free of their roots’ weak hold.

  His blurry vision came slowly into focus. Morning sunshine was muted by a light fog. The black of night had faded to a dusky blue to the west, while fiery orange and red globes preceded the rising sun to the east.

  He was in the center of a prison yard. Towers stood at the corners of tall fences. Soldiers stared down, weapons ready.

  Geese flew south in a misshapen ‘V’, honking as they passed.

  Porter got to his knees, and reached for his neck where the pain had shot through him in his last waking moment. There was a bump there, and it pained him when he touched it. He grimaced, and looked up at the soldiers watching him.

  As he stood, he saw he wasn’t alone in the yard. There was a body lying motionless near the fence. He turned, and saw another person near a different section of the fence, spaced equally far from the tower as the first. As he looked around, he knew that the placement of the bodies wasn’t accidental. There were two more unconscious figures, each of them at equal placement away from him, as if he was a pitcher staring at four bases.

  This was a test of some sort.

  He was about to start screaming out to his captors as he looked around, but then something caught his eye. Of the four motionless bodies, one drew his attention. It was a woman who lay near the prison. She was different than the others, though he couldn’t explain why.

  Something compelled him to step her way. All four of the prisoners were dressed the same. They had on hospital gowns, and nothing else. Their naked legs sat uncovered and motionless, their heads face down.

  The woman near the prison’s wall needed help. Porter was certain of it. He began to walk towards her, but his movement was clumsy and stilted. His feet fell uncertainly, as if his body had minimal control of their destination. He felt heavy, and his muscles were weak. He staggered, and nearly fell, but righted himself as he moved to the prison.

  Porter quickened his pace, compelled forward by the promise of helping.

  As he approached, a set of doors on the prison opened. Red and yellow lights flashed as an alarm broke the still morning. Soldiers in riot gear, complete with face masks and plastic shields, came pouring into the yard. They pointed guns at him with barrels the diameter of baseball bats. The woman Porter had wanted to help rose to her feet, and was ushered away while some of the soldiers fired. Their weapons emitted a hollow ‘thump’ before Porter was struck in the chest by something heavy enough to knock him to the ground. He rolled, and grasped his breast in search of a bullet hole, but found nothing but tender flesh. As he got to his knees, he saw a small sandbag on the ground.

  “Porter,” called a familiar voice from above. “Up here.”

  Jeff stood on a balcony two stories above where the woman had been placed. He looked down on Porter and waved as if they were friends.

  “Stay down. Don’t get up. I’ll come to you,” said Jeff.

  Soldiers surrounded Porter, but this time the guns they pointed at him didn’t contain sandbag bullets. One of them shouted, “Stay on your knees.”

  Porter did as he was told as the plastic shields drew a tighter half-circle in front of him. When he started to stand, a gun butt struck him on the side, felling him as multiple soldiers yelled commands.

  Jeff made it to the yard, and pushed his way through the crowd. He smiled at Porter, but then grew concerned and stepped back. He looked to the soldiers around him and said, “Shackle him.”

  They did as they were told, and forced Porter to the ground. They pulled his arms behind his back, cuffed his wrists and ankles, and then looped a chain between both. He was dragged to his feet, and held in place while another soldier strapped a wire muzzle over Porter’s mouth. Finally, he was fitted with a padded blindfold that would soak up his tears.

  “Sorry for the precautions, Porter,” said Jeff. “I’m sure you understand.”

  “I only wanted to help.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  “What am I here for?”

  “Just running a few field tests,” said Jeff. “There’s a lot we need to figure out about you. For instance, what made you go to the girl here in the yard?”

  “I was trying to help her.”

  “Yes, yes, right. But why her? Why not one of the other three people in the yard?”

  Porter shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Did you smell something different about her perhaps?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Did you…” Jeff was interrupted by a gunshot from far off. The noise echoed, and the soldiers sprang into action.

  “Move, move, move!”

  Porter was hustled along, made to move awkwardly in his shackles, trusting the direction they forced him to head was free of obstacles. He was manhandled, and then shoved to his knees. There was another gunshot, and this time the bullet struck the brick wall near them.

  “Get inside!”

  “Take him to the lab,” said Jeff amid the chaos.

  “No time,” said a soldier. “Better to just…”

  A gun’s cold barrel pressed to the side of Porter’s head.

  “No!” Jeff protested, and the barrel was pushed away from Porter’s temple.

  “Then you take him,” said a solider. “We’ve got better things to do.”

  “Hold him for me,” said Jeff.

  Soldiers restrained Porter, and then something pressed to his neck. There was a click, and then a surge of pain before he blacked out.

  Day Four – 8:43 am

  June had been awake for a couple hours while Roy and his daughters slept. They’d told her she could eat some of their food if she wanted, but her appetite hadn’t returned. The loss of Red, and the horror of the previous night, had stolen any trace of hunger. Her hands shook, and her mind raced. Every bump in the night stole her breath and stilled her heart. There wasn’t a waking moment when it didn’t seem like the world was closing in. She felt claustrophobic in the cramped attic, and the rain never ceased its incessant drumming.

  She put her head in her hands and wept. The grief started quiet, but soon got away from her. She sobbed, and held her breath to stop. Her throat clenched, and her chest ached. What began as a simple attempt to release some of the anguish that plagued her became a tidal wave of emotion.

  “Hey, hey,” said Roy from across the room, whispering angrily at he
r.

  She looked up to see a gun pointed at her. June raised her arms in front of her face as if that might stop a bullet. “Put the gun away.”

  “Are you… are you turning into one of them?”

  “No.”

  “Then why’re you crying?”

  “I’m crying because I’m fucking sad. Stop pointing the gun at me. If I wanted to stab you, I would’ve done it when you were asleep.”

  “I haven’t been asleep,” said Roy. “I’ve been keeping my eye on you.”

  “You looked asleep to me.”

  Roy got up, and carefully walked across the beams between the insulation on his way to the plywood plank where the food sat. He knelt and searched for something to eat. “I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to. You hungry?”

  “No, not really.”

  He opened a bottle of water, and sat down as he ate an apple. The vent allowed the morning sun to illuminate the attic slightly, giving June a better view of the man who saved her. He was older than she expected, possibly in his fifties, with short grey hair, a goatee, and a pockmarked face that told of severe acne in his youth. He wasn’t a big man, but he had hands that could palm a basketball.

  “So what’s your story?” he asked between bites.

  “I was on my way to Texas with my boyfriend, but we got stopped by some cops. They took us to the school, and then all hell broke loose.”

  “Are you from around here?”

  “No. I haven’t been in Colorado long.”

  “Where’re you from?”

  “Everywhere and nowhere. I had a weird childhood.”

  “Bit of a nomad?”

  She nodded. “I guess.”

  “What brought you here?”

  “Friends. I needed to get away from…” She wiped away tears, sighed, and said, “Never mind. It’s a long story.”

  “Mysterious,” he said as if mocking her. “Don’t worry, the way I see it, with all the stuff that’s happened these past couple days, any skeletons left in our closets got evicted.”

  “Let’s hope so.” June looked at the girls and asked, “Do you have a wife?”