Haven (Apocalypse Chronicles Part 1)

by Falter, Laury

  I left the store the same way I’d arrived, although this time, I held a muzzle out in front of me as I passed through. Keeping that muzzle in place, I started to retrace my route only to be detoured when I realized I was about to play a game of chicken with a pack of Infected. Not being in the mood, I stayed out of sight by taking a shortcut through an unoccupied UPS store. And it was this alternate direction that led me to the National Guard truck abandoned in the center of the street. Realizing they may have left something of value along with the truck, I made a run for it. Successfully reaching it in just a few seconds, I swung open the door, hauled myself up to the driver’s seat, and shut it as gently as I could manage, hoping no sound alerted the Infected to my location.

  Once enclosed, I registered the smell of metal and immediately felt at ease, which I attributed to my dad. Being a military man, he was strong and durable, just like the big piece of metal I found myself sitting in. After a quick search of the passenger seats, I found nothing and turned to the console. There were no keys and unfortunately, hotwiring a vehicle was one thing my dad hadn’t taught me. But I did discover a small medic pack. While I pushed it into my pocket, my gaze wandered around the inside of the cab, landing directly on the paperwork that had slid off the passenger seat and ended up on the floor. If it hadn’t been for the growing light of dawn and its hazy beams drifting through the windshield, I might have missed it entirely. But I didn’t, and I reached down completely unprepared for whose face I would see when I flipped the paperwork over.

  My breathing stopped as I stared down at the handsome familiarity of it. I quickly scanned the paragraphs below the picture and specific words stood out as I launched into a rush to skim the page. And with each phrase my chest only tightened further.

  …Highest Priority…

  …T1L2 Virus…

  …Find and retrieve…

  …Harrison Hutchinson…

  …Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, IL…

  …student at Woodrow Wilson High School…

  …Deliver to Marion Kremil…

  …CDC, Building 12, Corporate Square Boulevard, Atlanta…

  Suddenly, I felt very hot and my pulse began to throb in my ears. My fingers pinched the paper with steadily more force as the pain in my forearms began to scream at them. But it wasn’t until my head began to swim that I finally sucked in a breath and got my head under control. As I sat there, gawking and calming my nerves, I attempted to make sense of the information. Right away, I processed a few details that I could accept with absolute confidence. First, what I held in my hands was a military briefing memo. Second, the briefing came at the request of the CDC. Third, both the military and the CDC had been trying to find Harrison. Fourth and final, they hadn’t succeeded. They’d never made it to our school. Then a series of questions started flooding my mind. Why were they looking for Harrison? Who was Marion Kremil? What did either of them have to do with the T1L2 virus? So many questions were beginning to surface…and they would have continued were it not for the sound of a muffled growl that immediately broke my trance.

  I lifted my head and peered through the passenger window trying to source its location. It wasn’t hard. A movement at the corner of the street, no more than a hundred yards away, was an Infected…running right for me.

  My stomach sank. My nerves flared. My hand was on the door handle before I could turn away; the other was shoving the memo into my pocket. By the time I left the vehicle, my heart was hammering my chest, giving me the extra juice to lurch into a sprint.

  Shoot, one part of my brain demanded. My hand clutching the rifle actually tightened at the thought as it instinctively prepared to lift it to my shoulder. But the other part was more rational: Shoot and you’ll have a hundred Infected to deal with instead of just one.

  My eyes swept the street for an escape, a diversion, a deterrent, though I could find nothing but storefronts where more Infected could be wallowing. So I took an immediate right, crossed an empty parking lot, and headed across an undeveloped field. Fields were usually surrounded by chain link fencing, which would make an effective ambush point and ultimately a good-sized, open-aired coffin for me. This one was no different, except for the twisted metal that beckoned to me from the other end. Someone, bless their heart, had cut through it to create an easy path to the stores I’d just left behind. An industrial complex of old brick buildings stood on the opposite side. The names painted on them had faded and the windows were either missing or boarded up, so I knew they wouldn’t be occupied. But they were in the direction of the school, so I wasn’t going to second-guess myself.

  The parched earth, hardened by the summer sun, crunched beneath the Infected’s feet behind me. He’s gaining ground, I told myself, which only served to strike fear in me.

  I was a superb runner. The 1st place medals collected in a box in Mr. Packard’s office proved it. Still, this guy was making me look like I was just learning to crawl.

  I twisted my head enough to catch sight of him, hoping to estimate his range and possibly identify him.

  And I did.

  He was Mike Myrtle and he’d won MVP on the men’s track at Woodrow Wilson three years in a row before moving on to Northwestern where he dominated intramural track meets too. Tawyna had forced me to go with her to several of them until the crush she had for him had waned, and I recalled with spectacular detail the speed he’d used against his competitors.

  Unfortunately, I was now his primary focus and sole competitor.

  Shoot, damn it, the self-protective part of my mind screamed while the more rational side held me back. There could be more of them hidden in the buildings and that shot would only call out multiple attackers. My best chance was to outthink and outmaneuver him.

  By the time I reached the pavement that had once served as the industrial complex’s parking lot, Mike had cut our distance in half. I used this to my advantage, immediately feeling the speed that the solid ground gave me. Leaning forward, into the wind that whipped by my ears now, I took off down the side of the complex. But the pavement gave Mike a thrust forward too and I was forced to cut inside one of the buildings.

  The space wasn’t just vacant. It was gutted. Only four walls, a roof, and a few sets of stairs to the upper floor existed. Besides that, it was decrepit. The brick walls were pockmarked, the flooring had been torn up and left in heaps of rubble, and the upper floor had wide, gaping holes broken through it. The morning sun’s rays streamed through the open holes in both the roof and upper floor, illuminating the dust motes as they floated lazily through the air, getting caught in the cross breeze.

  But the fact that there wasn’t any place to hide wasn’t my biggest worry. Through the gaps in the walls, more Infected were visible, and they were heading directly for me. That’s when I second-guessed myself. Now there was only one way to go.

  Up.

  I took the stairs two at a time, reaching the top just as Mike’s hand came in contact with the metal handrail. I knew this because it vibrated against mine on his impact. When I glanced back, I realized that the person following me was no longer Mike. Having run across other Infecteds of course I understood that, but it had been a while since I’d seen one that I had known in our previous lives, before the outbreak. Glimpsing his snarling mouth, bottomless, incensed eyes, and the blood that had crusted over his ear and through his hair brought the realization back to me. He wasn’t a track star any more than I was. His life was as over as mine, but in a vastly different way. He was not Mike Myrtle but an Infected and he craved my flesh.

  Focus, I told myself, and my eyes scanned my new surroundings.

  The upper floor was just as empty as the one below it, stretching from one end of the building to the other with only an intermittent break in the floor from holes or from the stairs that lined the right side of the building. My feet didn’t slow as I raced across the planks.

  Think, Kennedy, think.

  I needed a way out, fast, or at least an obstacle to separate the two of us un
til I could figure out how to get out of this mess.

  As if in answer to my desperation, a gaping hole appeared in the floor ahead, one I missed earlier being too concerned with what was behind me to pay attention to what was in front of me. If I can hurdle it, make it across…just like at the track, it’s that simple.

  In a testament to the human mind, one not infected with the T1L2 virus, I managed to believe the rutted floor made of loose wooden beams below my feet had disappeared and that a rubberized runway had taken its place, one that would spring me to the other side. What I’m about to do is nothing more than another long jump, I told myself, like I’ve done hundreds of times; and on the other end will be the sand pit, like it always is.

  But there was a second reason this particular jump was so familiar to me. I had seen it before, this hole in the floor of this empty warehouse. I had made this jump, this very one.

  How? my mind drilled me. That wasn’t possible. I never had a reason to be here until this moment. But I remembered the smell of dust in the air and the feel of the loose floor beneath my feet and the mental anguish of being chased. That’s when it hit me. I had dreamt this – all of this – happening…on the day of the outbreak.

  The Infected growled behind me and the hair shifted on my scalp, moving against the wind. Vaguely, I registered that he took a swipe at me and I recalled the same attempt had been made in my dream.

  I met the hole in the floor just as I had before and bent the tip of my toes around the edge to propel myself across. As I lunged, I recalled what had happened on the landing before; and I altered my position just enough to avoid it this time. Before that came, while soaring through the air, I remembered back to what it felt like to be running for competition and not for my life. It was freeing, like I had everything under control and knew with certainty what would happen on the other side. Because that liberation returned, and because I didn’t know if I’d altered my future yet, I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to cling to that sense of peace, to live in it for just a while longer, but the other side rapidly swallowed my view and I hit it hard, as hard as I remembered in my dream.

  Again, my wrists and forearms burned in pain, shooting sparks up my arms, but it was my right ankle that made me stiffen. I looked down at it, half expecting to find it twisted or a bulge of bone pressing up awkwardly from beneath the skin. I breathed through my relief when I found it to be a perfectly healthy joint. A crash echoed through the warehouse, and I snapped my head around but found no sign of the Infected.

  “Finally,” I sighed through my heavy breathing and then froze after recalling I’d done the same in my dream.

  That meant the prediction hadn’t ended. My mind raced to the part right before I woke up and fear pushed another surge of adrenaline into me. Immediately, I shoved myself up, groaning from the effort. The sound merged with a grunt from somewhere else in the building and I felt my breathing stop altogether.

  I remembered thinking that he couldn’t have survived the fall. The Infected aren’t impermeable. Fast, sure. Hungry, definitely. Obsessed with human flesh, that was without question. But the psychosis that made them what they are is still housed in a human body. If blood can no longer reach the brain, they die. These same notions rushed back to me. And as predicted, I tilted my chin up for a better view of the body through the broken floor. The blood was there, crisscrossing the concrete slabs.

  The grunting came again, echoing off the walls.

  I swung my head to the right, to the metal stairs a few feet away. The handrail shook, just like it had in my dream. The grunting blended with the sound of something slithering and the rattle of loose bolts.

  Although I already knew the answer, I glanced at the gaping hole, and determined there was no way of traversing it, injured ankle or otherwise. When I turned back, I saw the heads of the first Infected coming into view and sighed, just like I had in my dream. This time though, it was because I knew that it hadn’t been the ankle my dream was forewarning me about. It was the Infected coming up the stairs.

  ~ 7 ~

  THE FIRST INFECTED WHO CAME INTO view was balding. The half moon of white hair around the back of his head was severed in half by a gash that left his neck and the collar of his light blue business suit a crusty red. His hand on the railing was the same ruby color. The one coming up behind him was a girl in her twenties with bleached blonde hair and a tattoo that curled up the side of her neck. The Infected trailing her was a woman with an afro and oversized gold hoop earrings. There were more – I could hear their feet on the stairs – but they hadn’t located me yet. Once they did, I knew nothing could tear them away. This was why I had the rifle pointed at Mr. Suit. If I hit him just right there was a possibility he would collapse against the wall and topple backwards, into the crowd, momentarily blocking the rest from advancing. That might buy me enough time to run for the next set of stairs and, possibly, to safety.

  My heart was pounding so hard that I was afraid it would interfere with my aim, even at this short distance. The muzzle was bobbing so rapidly it reminded me of peaks on a hospital pulse monitor. As I’d been trained, I stopped, took a deep breath, and attempted to steady my heart rate. One of my dad’s favorite sayings coursed through my mind, reminding me how to take an accurate shot and calming me instantly. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast, Kennedy. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.

  As I contemplated my plan, biding my time to get the right shot off, something happened on the floor below. It started with a roar, which was odd because I’d never heard a single Infected roar. Then a commotion followed that caused Mr. Suit and the others to seek the source of the interruption behind them. Apparently, their judgment hadn’t been so dramatically impaired that they knew enough to turn around. This took their focus away from me and I immediately stepped toward the stairs I’d been eyeing. But then I froze…because Ms. Afro had suddenly been yanked out of sight. I watched as Ms. Biker Girl prepared to lunge but also quickly disappeared down the stairs. Mr. Suit was then yanked away, his head snapping back as he vanished in the same direction as the others. Whatever was making its way up the stairs was cutting through the Infected like they were paper dolls. Then the turmoil came to a sudden end and the warehouse settled back into silence, with only the wind whistling through the openings in the building to fill the void. Beneath that hushed sound came another one. A footstep. It was sturdy, landing solidly and with intent. The sound came again. And again. And then there before me stood Harrison, chest heaving, eyes bulging, lips drawn back in a snarl.

  My heart leapt at the sight of him, both because I didn’t expect him to appear and because I didn’t expect him to appear like this. What I saw in him was the same behavior so visibly obvious in the Infected. Only one word could describe them both: enraged.

  “Harrison?” I whispered, which seemed to bring him back to me.

  He had been inspecting the upper floor before his eyes stopped on me. He blinked and straightened out of his crouch, relaxing his face until it returned to the same gorgeous Harrison so familiar to me. He came forward, up the remaining step, but no farther, as hesitancy spread across his face. I was vaguely aware of it wavering as I found myself running for him.

  Before I knew it, I was in his arms and my face was pressed against his firm chest and his warm, secure arms were encircling me.

  “Kennedy,” he whispered back, hoarsely, full of the emotion he held for me and vowed he would never show.

  I felt his face settle tenderly against my ear and his arms tighten their hold on me, as if he were trying to encompass me as best he could.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, still fighting back my astonishment.

  “Looking for you.”

  “I thought…I thought…I don’t know what I thought. I just didn’t know it was you coming up the stairs.”

  “They made for a nice ambush,” he explained in his own way, one that surprisingly made sense to me.

  “Where are the others?” I asked nervously.

 
“School. Which is where we should be getting back to,” he said, pulling away. I noticed he did this reluctantly, keeping his hands on my arms until the very last second. He paused then, tipping his head back as if he were an animal sensing movement. “Follow me.”

  Then we ran, fast, across to the stairs I’d been heading for before he started annihilating the Infected in an effort to get to me. We took them two at a time on the way down and kept up our pace through the exit door and into the sunlight. A pod of them was coming across the same field I’d just traversed in my race with Mike. Harrison didn’t look at them, but I knew that he knew they were there when he took me in the opposite direction. We cut through another empty warehouse and around a third building before he abruptly pulled me to the side. Motioning me to bend down, he snuck a glance around the corner and returned to me. A second later, a stampede of footsteps passed and faded away.

  Between pants, I asked, “How…did you…find me?”

  “Your dream,” he said, gesturing to the building in front of us. “You mentioned being in a vacant warehouse and these are the only vacant warehouses in walking distance.”

  I considered this for a second, realizing he was either clever or lucky in determining that the dream would be coming to fruition today.

  Nodding through an exhale, I realized that I was the only one panting. “Why aren’t you out of breath? Like me?”

  He glanced back. “Do you really want to talk about that right now? Or do you want to get out of here?”

  “Both.”

  “Well,” he said, sliding up the wall to assume a standing position. “Talking’s going to have to wait. You ready?”

  Pushing myself up, I nodded again. “Ready.”

  We made our way around the next set of buildings and across the street into a meadow. Being completely exposed forced us to remain crouched and silent until we crossed over into a residential subdivision. From there, we stood a little higher, but still didn’t speak.