Escape the Virus

by Ryan Westfield

  Froggy, his roommate and best friend, had been nowhere to be found. Maybe he'd finally packed up and headed back to Australia where he was from, just like he'd been threatening to do for the last decade or so.

  When Mark and Froggy had been in their twenties, their antics had been, if not charming, at least understandable and tolerable. Their excess drinking had been written off as a product of their young age. But as the years had passed and their behavior hadn't changed, people had started to distance themselves. Former friends had become acquaintances, and the world seemed to be giving a wide berth to Mark and Froggy.

  But Mark and Froggy, unable or unwilling to change their ways, had stuck together. At least they'd had each other. Through all the petty scams they'd tried to pull, through all the DUIs, the arrests for drunk and disorderly, the restraining orders from ex-girlfriends, Mark and Froggy had been there for each other. Through it all. Thick and thin. And most if it had been pretty thick.

  Their lives had only gotten harder as the years had passed. With the advent of computers and cell phones, the gift card and phone card scams that they'd run together had become obsolete.

  Their money had dried up, and the rent for their crummy little place on the bad side of town had increased. Their original landlord, who'd occasionally let things slide in exchange for a case of beer or some stolen watches, had died, leaving the property to his much stricter and much-less-fun son.

  Things had been getting worse for years until that fateful morning of the hangover.

  Without Froggy there, Mark had actually gone and gotten the one gun that he hadn't yet pawned, and decided that it was finally time. He'd written an awkward suicide note to Froggy, should he return, that was full of misspellings and sweat stains.

  Mark had even tried to go through with it. He'd always fantasized about pushing the muzzle against his temple, but in the end, he'd instead gone with taking the muzzle in his mouth, wrapping his lips around the cold steel.

  It had felt good in a strange, horrible way. It had felt good to finally come up with a solution to his problems and to his life.

  His life had just been one giant problem. And as he pulled the trigger, he knew that he could rest in peace. He knew that it'd all be over in a fraction of a second.

  But nothing had happened.

  The gun had been out of ammunition.

  And he couldn't find any in the house.

  None at all. Not a single round.

  So he'd given up. He'd just slouched further down on the stained and disgusting couch that he and Froggy had found on the side of the road, with the stuffing coming out of the sides.

  He'd sat like that for a full four hours, doing absolutely nothing, before Froggy had returned.

  “So you didn't take off to Australia?” said Mark.

  “Nah, not really. You know me, always taking about it, never going through with it.”

  “That's you all right.”

  “I mean, hey, I actually made it to the airport this time.”

  “What happened?”

  “Didn't have enough money for a ticket.”

  Mark laughed. “You know people don't buy tickets at the airport anymore, right?”

  “I thought I could fly standby or something. I heard about it on TV.”

  Mark laughed again. “It's all online,” he said.

  “We don't even have a computer though.”

  “They do it all on their phones these days.”

  “Their phones?”

  Neither Mark nor Froggy had a cell phone. They'd been left behind in more ways than one by current society.

  “What's with the gun?” said Froggy, pointing to the gun.

  “Tried to off myself. No bullets, though.”

  “Huh,” said Froggy, falling into silence.

  Neither said anything for a couple of minutes.

  Then Froggy, apparently remembering something, sprang to life, a smile lighting up his face. “You won't guess what's happened!” he said, positively beaming.

  “What?” muttered Mark, thoroughly not-yet-excited.

  “A virus,” said Froggy. “There's some crazy virus. It was all over the TVs at the airport... there were all these announcements about it.”

  “A virus? What are you talking about? Like the flu or something?”

  “Something like that, but much worse,” said Froggy, going on to explain all he'd heard about the H77 virus.

  “All right,” said Mark, finally understanding the story of the virus. “But why are you so excited about this? Why are you smiling ear to ear?”

  “Because this is what we've been waiting for. This is our opportunity.”

  “It is?”

  Froggy laughed. “Back in Australia, they'd understand,” he said. “I mean, look at it this way. Do you think this virus stuff is real?”

  “I guess. I mean, I figure they know what they're talking about.”

  Froggy let out a dismissive laugh. “They're always saying there's some new super virus that's going to kill us all. What was it last year? Swine flu or something like that? Alligator flu? Who knows. Each year it's something new and it's never the end of us all.”

  “Ah,” said Mark, not really caring one way or the other. His hand gripped the gun again, and he wished that he'd had the bullets after all.

  “Don't you see?” said Froggy. “They're getting all worked up about this. They're quarantining people. They're taking them out of their homes and they're putting them all together. They're all going to have a big slumber party in the city hall and in the stadium... and all the houses…

  “...will be abandoned,” said Mark, finishing Froggy's sentence for him. Mark had finally understood Froggy's point.

  “It's the perfect opportunity,” said Froggy.

  “We'll rob them blind,” said Mark, his mood doing a complete one-eighty and a huge smile growing on his ugly pockmarked face. “They'll all be in the stadium or whatever, scared of some nonexistent virus... and we'll go house to house and load up on whatever we want...”

  “Now you're catching on,” said Froggy, slapping Mark on the side of the head playfully. “And they cops will all be busy... the city's going to be breaking out into chaos as everyone tries to evacuate... there's going to be rampant crime... it's the perfect cover for us...”

  Mark suddenly felt incredibly happy. It seemed as if his life once again had purpose. There was a good feeling in his chest, where in the past, for years, there had been only a deep pit of black despair. Now his smile grew and grew until it became a joyous laugh.

  Mark laughed and laughed, and Froggy joined in.

  In their excitement and happiness, they began preparing. And less than a few hours later, they were in Froggy's old beat-up car, driving up and down the nicer areas of Albuquerque, looking for abandoned houses.

  It was true that many houses and apartment buildings were completely abandoned.

  It was also true that traffic was extremely bad.

  It took Mark and Froggy seemingly forever to move small distances across the city.

  The traffic made things frustrating. As did the surprisingly sparse hauls.

  They'd hit five houses at this point that had been completely empty. And they'd basically come up empty-handed. There really had been nothing of value anywhere. No expensive jewelry. No firearms. No drugs or expensive booze.

  Their moods had been getting progressively worse as they drove around, looking for another house to hit.

  That's when Froggy had laughingly pulled over to the side of the road, opened the trunk, and pulled out a police siren that he attached to the roof of the car.

  “Nice trick,” said Mark. “Where'd you get it?”

  “Don't worry about that. Come on, one more house. Let's hit just one more.”

  “Let's just go home and get drunk,” said Mark. “I'm tired of this.”

  Mark's spirits were already once again low.

  “No, come on. One more.”

  Froggy steered the car down a str
eet that almost no cars on it. He was muttering to himself all the while. “Let's go to the last house here. Yeah, that looks like a good one. No, wait. That yellow one there. I remember that from somewhere? Oh! That's it!”

  “What's what?”

  “I remember now. I once helped deliver a couch to that yellow house. It was a temp job thing for a furniture store, you know? Anyway, that yellow house was just full of all kinds of crazy expensive stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “All sorts of electronics. Small stuff. Costs a ton. I know where we can sell it, too, once this all blows over.”

  “You sure that's the house?” said Mark, somewhat skeptical, as he knew that Froggy's memory could be a bit hit or miss.

  “Of course,” said Froggy. “Now let's switch this siren on.”

  “What's the point of the siren anyway?”

  “If anyone's at home, they'll just think we're cops.”

  “But... that doesn't make sense. We're going to walk into their house in these clothes and steal their electronics?”

  Froggy laughed. “Man,” he said. “That doesn't make sense. No. We're going to bust our way in there. If there's anyone home and they give us a problem, we'll just bust in and show them our guns.”

  “What if that doesn't work?”

  “We'll shoot them.”

  “We don't have any ammo.”

  “That's where you're wrong.”

  Mark turned towards Froggy, who gave him a wicked smile. “Don't tell me you hid the ammo from me... you didn't, did you?”

  Froggy gave a little cackle. “You were always talking like you were going to off yourself. Down in Oz, we consider that a serious thing when a buddy's talking like that... so I did what any good mate would do, which is take the ammo away from you.”

  Mark's smile started to return. “You know, Froggy,” he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “You're not so bad. You're really not.”

  “Now come on,” said Froggy, pulling a couple of clips out of a cargo pocket on his pants. “Let's go steal some expensive shit.”

  Froggy passed a clip to Mark, who took it eagerly. The clip made a satisfying sound as Mark loaded it in.

  Finally, things were starting to go his way.

  Finally he was going to make something of himself.

  Finally he was going to be someone.

  13

  Mia

  Mia was starting to feel pretty weird. And that was kind of strange, because normally she could handle her pills pretty well.

  It wasn't like she did them all the time. Just once in a while. Just to relieve some stress.

  At this point, she couldn't remember exactly what she'd taken.

  Had it been the anxiety drugs? The prescription kind that she'd bought off that coworker whose name she couldn't remember? The one with the curly red hair?

  Or had they been the party drugs?

  Surely, she'd be able to tell the difference. After all, ecstasy always made her feel all warm and fuzzy.

  Did she feel like that now? She wasn't totally sure. Everything was getting kind of muddled up and cloudy. Her thinking wasn't the same as it had been before.

  In her youth, which wasn't that long ago, Mia had been somewhat of a party girl. She'd experimented with going to musical festivals, popping some pills, smoking some stuff, and generally just kicking back and enjoying herself.

  Those days were gone, but not long gone, and she still liked to remember them sometimes, both fondly and viscerally. Chemical aid here and there didn't hurt.

  Mia was feeling relaxed, but that could have been almost any drug.

  The drugs were really kicking in. Whatever they were.

  “What's going on?” she said sleepily. “Why is someone knocking on the door?”

  “Shhh,” hissed Damian.

  “But I want to see what's going on. Why aren't you letting them in?”

  Mia was somewhat aware that now that she wasn't remembering things properly.

  She couldn't remember where she was or how she'd gotten there.

  Was she at another house party?

  Had she been to work today?

  People around here had been talking. She remembered that. Something about a virus.

  Was that a new type of drug? Something that had just hit the streets?

  “I'm going to let them in,” said Mia, speaking defiantly.

  She started to move forward towards the door, which was just about the only thing visible in her haze.

  “No!”

  Someone grabbed her. Two strong hands on each of her arms.

  Mia struggled, trying to break free.

  Just then, Mia noticed someone standing next to the door. Something in his hands. A gun.

  “He's got a gun!” she shrieked, suddenly breaking free and rushing towards the man.

  She collided with him.

  He tried to stay up on his feet. But she'd hit him with too much force, and the two of them fell down, colliding with the door as they did so.

  Mia barely felt the pain in her head as it smashed into the hard door.

  She tasted blood, but she was becoming dissociated, and it seemed as if the blood might be someone else's. Not her own.

  And if it was her own? So what? Why was her blood so important? Did it need to stay in her body all the time? Couldn't it go out and have a little fun?

  “Can't it just have a little fun?” she said, cackling.

  She was really high now. Soaring through the stratosphere. Colors and shapes all around her. She'd completely forgotten that she'd taken pills. She'd completely forgotten what pills even were. Many concepts had ceased to exist for her.

  “Someone help me,” someone was saying, grunting.

  Hands were on her, but she barely knew what hands were any more.

  There was a tremendous sound nearby.

  She looked up and saw the door.

  It was as if it was the first time she'd ever seen a door.

  And what a door to see.

  It was bursting open.

  Bursting open as if it was the only door that had ever existed and the only door that ever would exist.

  Color swarmed through the opening as the door's hinges burst apart.

  Something was coming through, something other than the colors. Something powerful.

  People were screaming.

  A tremendous sound went off.

  Something so incredibly loud that it sounded like the heavens themselves. It sounded like thunder itself, near where it was forged high on the mountains amid the lighting.

  It was a gunshot.

  Someone had shot a gun.

  The knowledge suddenly sobered her up, the same way a cattle prod would sober up a drunk.

  Her limbs stiffened as she bolted upright.

  “Someone help!” she cried out.

  There were figures all around her. Some kind of intense scuffle. But she couldn't tell what had happened. She couldn't figure it out.

  For Mia, the colors had all disappeared. The glory and pleasure of the experience had faded away to a dark gray kind of fuzz that seemed to permeate everything. The drug experience had once again become mere confusion rather than pleasure.

  “You shot him,” she cried out, not knowing who she was speaking to or who she was speaking about.

  Suddenly, an idea occurred to her.

  Maybe she was the one who had been shot.

  After all, she knew that she was not the one who had shot the gun. She'd never shot a gun before in her life, and there was no reason to believe that she would have started today of all days.

  There was something important that had happened today, but she couldn't remember it. And it was something more important than the occurrence of a fantastic or deranged house party.

  Mia was searching for something. But she couldn't remember what.

  Her memory was fading out again.

  What had just happened?

  She found her hands. Those were the things
that she'd been searching for.

  She held up her hands. Right in front of her eyes. Got a real clear look at them.

  There was blood all over them. Bright red blood. Her hands were completely drenched in it, as if she'd dipped them in a bucket full of the stuff.

  What was happening?

  What had happened?

  Mia didn't know.

  She opened her mouth.

  Wide.

  A scream issued forth.

  It seemed to fill the room.

  The scream was a dark black cloud. It was smoke that seemed to devour the empty air around her. It filled everything. It overtook everything.

  14

  Matt

  “Get her off of me, someone,” said Matt.

  He was trying to speak as calmly and clearly as he could. But inside he was completely losing it.

  His heart was galloping away.

  His blood felt hot and cold at the same time.

  He was drenched in sweat.

  His hair was completely soaked. His hair was plastered to his head, despite his short haircut.

  Matt had just shot someone. It had happened.

  He still had the gun in his hand. His palms were sweaty.

  His finger was still on the trigger that he had pulled. The very same trigger that had ended the man's life.

  “Someone!” said Matt, speaking a little louder and a little more urgently than before.

  Mia was on her knees, her arms around Matt's legs at his knees. She was clutching him as if he were a large stuffed bear that she needed for comfort.

  Her mouth was open and she was emitting a wild animal sort of moan.

  Matt didn't know what was going on with her but she seemed completely delirious.

  Matt's head still hurt from when she had tackled him.

  It had all happened so fast. And Mia hadn't made things any easier.

  It seemed that she had lost her mind. And at just the wrong moment.

  Matt had been next to the door, waiting, gun drawn, when Mia had attacked him. They'd fallen into the door.

  And the guy on the other side of the door had taken his crowbar to the door. It had come open, the man had stepped in.