by Luke Duffy
Jess was crawling across the bed toward him. Trepidation, like an ominous spirit, fell over Jack. She didn’t take her eyes from him, and when she reached the end of the bed, she fell face down onto the carpeted floor. She hadn’t even put her arms out to break her fall. He went to help her up, and grabbed her wrists, but as soon as he did, she went to bite him. Jack yanked his hands away and her head thumped hard against the floor. Without hesitation, or any sign that she was in pain, Jess was pushing herself up as if neither blow had any impact.
Jack needed to call 911 and have an ambulance come to his residence, but from the sound of things, that might take a while. The 911 operator had said the city was in a crisis, but what exactly did that mean? His mind was so scrambled, he couldn’t think about anything but his wife. She needed help and he had to do something.
He could ask one of his neighbors for help. The first person to come to mind was Mr. Zortov, a very nice man, but in his seventies. Then he thought of Zaun Van Pelt, his friend of two years since moving into the building. The guy was a little odd, but he was young and in good shape. He and Jack got along well. Zaun would be home, he was always home during the day, making his living as a day trader. The guy spent most of his free time at some martial arts academy downtown, but that was in the evenings.
Jess was now up and on her feet, walking toward Jack. Her eyes were on him, but seemed not to focus on anything in particular, just him in general. Her head tilted to the side and her mouth hung open. With arms outstretched, fingers curled into claws, she came forward.
She moved slowly, as if just learning to walk.
Jack didn’t want to injure his wife, if he had to restrain her, so he told her that he loved her and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Holding the doorknob, he waited for her to try and open it, but she didn’t. Instead, he heard her collide with the door and claw at it, the scraping sounds sending chills down his spine. Jess was so deranged that she didn’t even have the common sense to open the door. She was like a mindless drone with the inability to think or reason. Jack hoped the fever hadn’t permanently harmed her.
Not wanting to leave her alone for too long, he ran down the hall to Zaun’s apartment and rang the bell.
No answer.
He rang again, pushing the doorbell hard, as if that would help get his urgency to Zaun.
No answer. That wasn’t like the guy. Maybe he stepped out.
“Zaun,” Jack called loudly, “it’s me, Jack.” He banged on the door. “Open up, buddy.”
The door flew open, and before Jack knew it, he had the tip of a Samurai sword at the nape of his neck. He froze, looking down at the blade, then at Zaun.
“Jack?”
“Yeah, what the fuck are you doing?”
“You alone?” Zaun asked, his eyes peering sideways like a bird.
“Yes. I need your help. Could you please get that thing out of my face?”
Zaun withdrew the weapon, sheathing it with the smoothness of a seasoned warrior.
“Dude,” he said, “you’re bleeding.”
Jack had forgotten about his wound. Now he felt the sting again, thinking how funny the brain worked. “It’s nothing. Listen: Jess is really sick. I need your help with taking her to the hospital.”
“Are you nuts?”
“No, are you?”
“Have you seen the news?”
“No.”
“It does look like you just got up,” Zaun said, eying Jack from head to toe. Then he grabbed Jack by the arm, and pulled him into his apartment, shutting the door behind him.
“What the hell?” Jack hollered.
“I don’t like my door open for long periods of time. You’re lucky that I even answered it.”
“I don’t know what’s happened to you, but I’m out of here.” Jack turned to leave.
“Wait,” Zaun said, putting a hand on Jack’s arm. “Come here a minute.” Zaun turned and walked into the living room. Jack sighed and followed the man.
“Just watch this for a minute,” Zaun said, picking up a remote control and raising the volume on the television. “It’s all I’ve been watching today.”
Jack didn’t have time to watch television, but soon the images and words coming from the telecast entranced him. He saw a shot of a hospital waiting room. The place was overcrowded, with a line going out the door and down the sidewalk. The reporter was saying how this was just one hospital, and all others looked the same or worse. People across the city were sick and dying. It was feared that an unknown contagion was rapidly infecting people, making them extremely hungry, irrational, violent, as well as ill and unresponsive. Authorities had no explanation, but the CDC was called in and had set up a command center. It was also being reported that the first people to be infected with the contagion were the ones bitten by yesterday’s crazed Biter Man, Derek Mayfield.
The news lady looked frightened. Jack had never seen or heard such news before. The closest he could think of were the 9/11 attacks. The newswoman was advising people not to go to hospitals if it could be helped. People should stock up on bottled water and food, non-perishables, and wait in their homes.
“Is this for real?” Jack asked, stunned.
“Yeah and this is the ‘government sanctioned’ news. You should hear what some of the local, less-respected, but highly believable radio stations are reporting.”
“And what are they reporting?”
“That after some of the sick people died, they came back to life.”
Jack shook his head, disgusted. Even in a time of real crisis people were scumbags, making shit up in order to get people to listen. He needed to sit.
“I thought about getting out of the city,” Zaun went on, “but where would I go? I’ve lived here my whole life, no family or friends, anywhere but the city.”
Jack stood quickly. Jess, how could he have forgotten about her? She was one of the really sick, a real emergency.
“I have to get my wife to the hospital, Zaun. Will you help me, plea—” he stopped himself when it dawned on him. He had thought she was dead. In fact he was sure of it. Then she came back and when she did, she was not like herself. He shook his head. No, he was letting what Zaun had told him screw with his head. The dead don’t rise up. He had done CPR, probably the same thing others had done, hence the reports of the dead coming back to life. He sighed, feeling better.
“Zaun, please,” Jack begged. “My wife needs your help.”
“Jack,” Zaun said, pointing at the television. “Have you seen the news? About what’s going on out there? Do you want to risk getting Jess infected? Yourself? Me?”
Jack hadn’t told anyone about Jess being bit. If he told him now, there was no way Zaun was going to help him. He didn’t want to lie to the guy, but he loved his wife and he would do anything to save her.
“Look,” he said. “I’m a hunter. You know that. I’ll bring my handguns. Even give one to you. We’ll take a cab to Beth Israel, down on First Avenue. You can drop Jess and me off, and then you can go back home. You won’t even really be outside; you’ll be in a cab.”
“First, I don’t need a gun, but thanks. Second, no one knows what’s really going on. I bet all cabs are being used by the sick too, turning them into Petri dishes of disease, or whatever it is that’s going around.” He shook his head. “Sorry, man.”
“You know me and you know Jess. We’ve been friends for what, a couple of years now? I’m asking as a friend to please help me with her.”
“I’ll come to your apartment. If she’s really sick, and I mean bad off, I’ll help you get her into the cab, but that’s it.”
“Good enough.”
Together, they left Zaun’s apartment, Zaun locking all three locks, even though he only lived a few doors down from Jack. The life-long martial artist took his sword with him, telling Jack, “You never know, man.”
Standing in the Warren’s apartment, just outside the door to the bedroom, Zaun said, “What’s that noise?”
&nb
sp; “It’s Jess.”
“Sounds like a dog scratching at a door,” Zaun said, almost laughing. Then his face went slack. “Why is she scratching at the door?”
“I told you, she’s sick.”
“And you locked her in the bedroom? What the hell’s going on here, Jack?”
“Nothing, she’s not in her right mind. The door’s not even locked; she can’t even open it.”
“Oh, my God, she really is sick. Let’s call that cab and . . .” he trailed off, appearing deep in thought. “Wait a minute, exactly how sick is she, Jack?”
“Listen, I was going to tell you—”
“No, no, no,” Zaun shouted, backing away. “She’s got what’s going around, doesn’t she?”
“Honestly, I don’t know for sure, but maybe.” Then, “Yes.”
“She was bitten by that guy on the news? The guy that went around assaulting people, wasn’t she?”
Jack closed his eyes and nodded.
“Oh, man,” Zaun said, his voice cracking.
Jack opened his eyes and saw Zaun looking at him. The man’s stare was focused on the area between Jack’s right shoulder and neck, the place where Jess had bitten him. With eyes wide, mouth open, Zaun said, “she bit you. You’re infected.”
“Zaun, I’m sorry,” Jack said, reaching out.
Zaun backed away, and in the blink of an eye, had sliced his sword through the air. Jack watched as four of his fingers came off, thumb untouched, like diced carrots on some crazy cooking show, flying in the air. Blood spurted like mini-geysers from the stumps as the digits landed on the floor. Jack screamed.
“Shit, Jack,” Zaun yelled, “I’m so sorry, man.” Zaun went to grab a towel from the bathroom when the apartment’s front door burst open. Four men and a woman, dressed in black military fatigues, came through the doorway, all of them holding handguns.
Jack was in pain and going into shock, but seeing the men shook him from his state. He watched as Zaun raised his blood-splattered sword to attack the intruders. One of the gun-wielding men pointed the weapon at Zaun and fired. There was no bullet sound, only a “pop” and then two darts attached to wires leading from Zaun’s chest to the weapon. Jack knew immediately it was a Taser. The sword fell from Zaun’s hand as his body convulsed. A second later, the martial artist was on the ground, shaking.
Cradling his hand, Jack asked, “What do you want?” He felt the warm blood dripping over his other hand, like freshly heated maple syrup.
“Where’s your wife, Mr. Warren?” one of the men asked. He was a huge fellow, with dark hair, graying at the sides, and a scar splitting his right eyebrow.
Jack didn’t know if the men were here to kill or capture, but from seeing the Tasers in their mitts, he assumed they were here to capture. They could’ve easily killed Zaun, but didn’t.
“In the bedroom,” he said. “She’s—”
“Sick,” the man finished for him. “We know.” Speaking to the man next to him, he said, “put this fucker to sleep.”
“Sleep, sir, not tasered?” the man asked, seeming confused.
“Yes, sleep. He’s been bitten. The doc will want to take a look at him.”
“Wait,” Jack said, holding out his good hand. “I’ll cooperate. Do whatever you guys want. Please, just save my wife.”
“I think it’s too late for that, Mr. Warren, but we’ll see what we can do about you.”
Jack felt a pinch on his neck, and then the world went dark.
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