by Selena Spry
“I don’t know,” Zach shook his head. “But I really have no desire to be herded like cattle to wherever those people are being taken.”
“Me neither,” said Jen, turning to face him, a frightened look on her face. “But what should we do?”
“Well, sitting here in the car isn’t going to help us much. I think we should beat it the hell out of here on foot.”
“But all our stuff is in here,” Jen protested. “If we go on foot, all we’ll have is the clothes on our back.”
“You’ll have your freedom,” Zach countered. “I’d rather have that than face being hauled off to only God knows where by those guys?” he nodded at the armed personnel ahead of them.
“I guess you’re right,” Jen agreed. “But what about the car?”
“Screw the car. As long as we have each other, we’ll figure it out. It’s not like anyone’s going to steal it. They’d need a crane to lift it out of here.”
“Good point,” Jen nodded, taking a deep breath.
They took a quick moment to grab two pre-readied packs for just such a scenario from the backseat – their “bug-out bags”. Each pack contained several bottles of water, a little food, some cash, and a few other supplies. They shrugged them onto their backs.
“Okay…I’m ready if you are,” Jen unlocked her door and grasped the handle.
Zach followed suit. “One…two…”
“Wait!” Jen cried. Several National Guard troops were two rows of vehicles ahead of them.
“We’ve gotta go!” Zach hissed back.
“But where!”
It was a good question. Zach just wanted to get away from the approaching authorities, but they should have some sort of plan. He did a quick scan of the area around them. “That alley over there,” he pointed. “We’ll see where it goes and take it from there. The soldiers will probably yell at us…tell us to stop. But just keep going. It’s better that way. If you look at them, then it’s like you’re disregarding their authority. But if you just pretend you just don’t hear them, they won’t take it personally and come after you.”
Zach wasn’t at all sure if what he was saying was true, but the psychology of it made sense to him, and it sounded good as he said it. Anything to give Jen a little bit more confidence in a situation that was looking bleaker by the second.
“And if we get separated?” Jen eyed him warily.
“We do our best to meet back at the apartment.”
She nodded and stayed silent.
“Okay…ready?”
She nodded again. He leaned over and kissed her. “Love you.”
“Love you,” she said.
“Okay. One…two…THREE!”
Chapter 12
Wendy was frantic. She couldn’t believe her bad luck…their bad luck.
After yet another citywide blackout that had lasted almost an entire day, Rob had decided to take a chance. Under the cover of darkness, and unbeknownst to Wendy who had fallen asleep on the couch, he’d crept next door to Brian’s house.
He didn’t expect his mission to take more than a couple minutes. He’d get in, get out, and be on his way. And as he tried the handle to the side door leading into Brian’s garage and found it unlocked, he felt good about his chances of it being a quick trip.
However, once inside the garage, his hopes began to fade. Scanning the interior with a flashlight, he saw no generator. What he did see was an empty generator-sized space near the back wall of the garage where he last remembered seeing Brian’s unit sitting. That meant that either someone had already beaten him to taking it or Brian had moved the generator inside. But Rob hadn’t seen any lights on inside Brian’s house for days, regardless of there being a blackout or not. So if Brian had taken the generator inside, it might just be sitting there, unused.
Rob snuck out the garage and hustled across the driveway to Brian’s back door. The door, which led into the kitchen, was cracked open. It was an obvious indication that there was likely no one home and that the place may already have been picked clean by random looters scouring the area. Still, Rob had to be sure. A generator was too valuable an item to be left behind in their current situation.
He pushed the back door open with a foot, his security-style flashlight held like a police baton out in front of him. He was instantly met with an overpowering stench. Either Brian was dead or something was dead inside the home. It was an absolutely terrible smell. Rob took a second to pull his T-shirt up over his nose and mouth. It helped block the smell, but not much.
Shining his flashlight around the kitchen, he noted a dead animal that looked like it might once have been a dog, decomposing near the refrigerator. From his quick inspection, it appeared as though something had been eating on it. The thought, paired with the smell, made Rob want to vomit.
He turned to other thoughts, wondering where Brian might have put the generator. If it were Rob, he would have put it in the basement. With the noise and potential exhaust fumes released during the generator’s operation, it seemed the logical place.
And he was right.
After finding the basement door, and carefully and quietly making his way downstairs, it took him only a minute to find the generator in one corner of the space. And while pleased with himself, Rob now realized his dilemma. He was going to have to haul the heavy and somewhat awkward-to-carry generator back up the stairs – alone and in the dark. After shining his flashlight down into the generator’s gas tank, he noted that it was full of fuel. This would only add to the generator’s weight.
Getting the generator downstairs with the lights on would have been difficult enough. Getting it back upstairs could prove to be an epic battle. But with the end to the blackouts nowhere in sight, Rob realized that the effort would be worthwhile.
Therefore, he half carried, half dragged the generator to the base of the stairs. Then he took some time to do some quick prep work.
He walked back upstairs and made sure the basement door was propped open. Next, he walked back down, counting the steps as he did so – 15 in total. Then he did some quick stretches to limber up. Finally, he stuck his flashlight under his armpit at a slight angle so that it would shine upward as he climbed the stairs.
But just three steps into his 15-step journey, Rob realized that his trip was going to be even harder than he thought. He paused to set the edge of the generator on the base of the fourth step, keeping hold of the unsupported side with his hands, and propping it in place with a knee. Trying to hold his under-armpit flashlight made his already difficult trip even more arduous. After several failed attempts to prop it on the steps at an angle to shine up the stairs, he saw little choice but to continue to carry it with him.
A minute later, and after a few deep breaths, he was halfway up and taking another break.
“Just one more big push,” Rob breathed softly to himself.
Rob was going to try to make this last half of the stairs in one stint. Then he’d stop again at the top and catch his breath. He wished Wendy was there with him. At least she could hold the flashlight or help pull one side of the generator. She was a tough little gal, and she never balked at a little physical labor. But there was no way he was going to wake her up. She’d be pissed as hell that he was even over here.
He took a couple more deep breaths, re-positioned the flashlight, re-gripped his holds on the generator with his now aching hands, and hefted.
Step by agonizing step, he pushed himself until he was finally at the top of the stairs where he stood, hands on hips, panting, triumphant – a conqueror of Everest.
He could already feel his back and shoulders starting to stiffen. It would be a two aspirin night for sure.
He moved his right arm up awkwardly to remove the flashlight that had pressed so hard into his side that it had left a sore spot. Then he closed his eyes, doing a few quick shoulder and neck rolls to work out the kinks. As he finished, he noticed something in the flashlight’s glare on the floor before him. It was a shoe…two shoes. He shi
ned his light up to reveal pants, legs, a torso, a wild-eyed and ravaged-looking man.
The man lunged at Rob. Rob reeled back and away from him. Suddenly, he was falling backward into space. He saw the open basement doorframe pass him. He made a grab for it but missed. Then he felt his fingertips scrabbling, his fingernails scratching as they searched for something, anything to grab hold of, but they found only smooth drywall. His backward momentum increased, his palms sliding against the stairwell walls. He landed hard on his upper back, halfway down the flight of stairs. He slid in a jouncing, bumping, tumbling way down the last few steps before his head smacked against the basement floor. His flashlight bounced down the last few steps and rolled to a stop several feet away.
Rob, dazed and in pain, moved slowly, groaning and waiting for the first indications that some part of his body was broken. Feeling no notable injury other than an extremely sore spot in the center of his back, he rolled over onto his stomach. He fumbled for his flashlight before struggling slowly to his feet. Before he could completely regain his wits, he was struck by something that turned out to be someone – it was the person Rob had seen at the top of the stairs.
Just as his flashlight’s beam caught the rabid look in the man’s eyes, he knocked Rob back to the ground. In that instant, Rob realized that it was his neighbor. Even though Brian didn’t look like himself, Rob knew it was him.
“Brian!” he cried. “It’s me! It’s your neighbor…Rob!” he struggled to get out from beneath Brian’s full weight atop him.
Rob was almost positive that Brian was infected with the Vorare Virus, and he knew he had to get the hell away from him, but Brian was so strong. He could feel Brian biting at his shoulder. The thought of being infected sent waves of terror through Rob. He pushed Brian’s torso up and away from him as though he was bench-pressing weights. As he did so, his flashlight’s beam caught the glint of Brian’s gnashing teeth as they tried to dip down toward Rob’s face. Rob moved his head to the side and did his best to keep Brian away from him, but he was growing weaker by the minute. Meanwhile, Brian seemed to be maintaining his strength and even getting stronger.
Brian’s stink was overwhelming, and his hot breath that wafted in over Rob’s face smelled like of combination of feces and death. Rob decided to take a chance. In one swift movement, he changed positions, moving his forearm up under Brian’s neck to hold him in place while using his free arm to grab his flashlight. He brought the flashlight’s steel casing to bear as powerfully as he could against the side of Brian’s head. At the same time, he shoved his neighbor hard to the left and off from atop him.
The move seemed to work. Brian grunted and rolled to his side. Rob used to opportunity to scramble to his feet and tear his way back upstairs, hurdling the generator at the basement door and sprinting back to the relative safety of his own home.
When he got back, Wendy was nervously awaiting him.
“What were you doing!” she cried when she saw him. “You’re bleeding!” she pointed at his arm.
Rob looked down to see a gash in his right forearm. He was unsure of how it had happened. He prayed that it was from the fall or from when he was carrying the generator up the stairs, but he couldn’t be sure. As he did a quick inspection of himself, it seemed to be the only external injury he’d suffered besides the growing lump on the back of his head from his fall down the stairs. He had several impressions of Brian’s teeth in his upper right shoulder, but his T-shirt appeared to have kept them from breaking the skin.
“How did it happen?” Wendy pressed.
She cleaned and bound the injury as Rob explained to her what had occurred at Brian’s house.
“I can’t believe you did that! It was so stupid!” she berated him.
“I was just trying to make our lives a little easier,” Rob did his best to justify his actions.
“So you don’t know if Brian did this or you hurt your arm some other way?” Wendy finished wrapping his forearm.
“No,” Rob shook his head.
“What if you’re…” Wendy broke into sobs, unable to finish.
All that had happened nearly a week ago.
Now they were stranded…downtown…in traffic…traffic that wasn’t going anywhere.
More to the point, Wendy had been stuck in this gridlock for over an hour with a husband who seemed to be getting dumber by the second, who had been ravenously eating raw meat for the past several days, and who was constantly begging her for sex. Sometimes she’d catch him eyeing her, a dangerous combination of lust and hunger in his eyes. Other times, he’d pace around the house, agitated and as though he couldn’t dispel the excess energy he’d been displaying lately. Meanwhile, Rob’s body had been transforming. It had become leaner and more muscular as it continued to burn more energy than it consumed. His features had become more refined, and while Wendy was terrified at her husband’s condition, she had to admit, he looked better now than he ever had since she’d known him.
The only thing Wendy could think to do about Rob’s condition was take him to the hospital. But she knew from all the news coverage on television that there was nothing doctors could really do to help him. She was confused, frightened, and Rob was absolutely no help. She was really just hoping that someone at the hospital could at least give her some advice on what to do next.
But now it didn’t appear they’d be reaching the hospital anytime soon. Worse yet, there were men in military fatigues going vehicle-to-vehicle ahead of her, pulling occupants from their cars and loading them into military transports. Wendy realized that if they got their hands on Rob, there was no telling what they might do with him. They could just be taking the infected somewhere and shooting them. And she couldn’t let that happen to her sweet Rob.
She had to do something. But what?
That was when she noticed something going on several rows of vehicles ahead of her. It appeared that the occupants of one vehicle in particular weren’t going to wait around for the military to haul them away either. Wendy decided as she watched that the people must be making a break for it.
It wasn’t a bad idea. In fact, it was about the only idea that seemed like a good one right now. In a split second, she impulsively made the decision to follow them. As she continued to watch the two strangers make a beeline for a nearby alley, it appeared as if they had a plan…at least more of a plan than Wendy had.
She quietly opened her door, slid from inside the sedan, and crept around the back to the other side of the vehicle. She opened Rob’s door and told him to follow her. He was still responding to basic commands, but Wendy wasn’t sure how much longer that would last.
“Keep down,” she told him.
His eyes had a wildly uncertain look about them, and he sniffed at the outside air almost doglike when Wendy opened his door. But he followed her directions.
She led him in a crouched run through several lanes of stopped traffic, following the same route she’d seen the other couple take.
No one tried to stop them. And as they made it to the cover of the nearby alley, she saw the couple they’d followed disappear around a corner about 50 yards from where she and Rob now stood. Wendy was still catching her breath from the run, but Rob looked fresh as a daisy.
In that moment, she decided to continue following the other couple – she really saw little other choice.
Chapter 13
It was two minutes to three on a Friday afternoon in what had been an extremely long week. Jaren and Aileen were sitting in one of the hotel’s smaller sixth floor meeting rooms. They were awaiting the start of an all-staff meeting – what remained of “all” the hotel’s staff at least.
The skeleton crew they’d started with at the outbreak of the Vorare Virus had been close to 150 people. To some, that might sound like a lot. But in a massive property like the Excelsior Hotel, it was barely enough to keep the place functioning. After three weeks of the virus taking its toll, this number had dwindled to just over 30 hotel personnel as people got sick, returne
d to be with their families, attempted to flee the city, or just disappeared into the cloak of chaos and confusion the city had become.
The meeting began promptly at three.
The hotel’s general manager, Kent Jefferies, stood before his remaining staff looking tired, nervous, but still professional. There was no room for anything other than strict professionalism in any situation befalling a hotel with the prestige and tenured history of the Excelsior.
Jefferies cleared his throat and began.
“First, I would like to thank you for having remained with us over the past month. Your loyalty, hard work, and dedication are appreciated, especially over the last week. The Excelsior Hotel staff has exhibited the qualities, work ethic, and customer service standards expected at a landmark property during a period that had presented us all with challenges none of us ever thought we’d be facing.”
He took a deep breath before continuing. “But here we are.” He rubbed his tired eyes – beneath which there were puffy bags of purplish skin – with a thumb and forefinger. “Today, the ownership contacted me to say that we are now on our own. They said that I’m free to release all remaining staff as of today.”
There was complete silence inside the conference room. Those who had remained at the hotel until this point had viewed themselves as the last line of defense. They were all that stood between the rapid disintegration of society outside on the streets of Chicago and the remnants of the civilized, pre-Vorare world. They were the last bastion of hope – the Alamo, MacArthur’s men in the Philippines, the crew of the Titanic. But now they were giving up. They were abandoning their posts at the hotel that most of them had served loyally for years, and in some instances, decades.
It was a tough pill to swallow. As long as they remained at their positions inside the hotel, there still seemed to be some semblance of a normal world. The Excelsior was like the Titanic’s bobbing stern in a world that was rapidly sinking beneath them – and they were clinging to this last part of the ship, just waiting for it to go under. But this final group of employees now huddling together seemed to realize that the ship was finally disappearing beneath them and they were being cast off on their own. It was every person for themselves.
