Several things, both physiological and psychological, occurred with the patient. One of the physiological effects was photophobia, a hypersensitivity to light. He tested the skin cells, all of which showed an absolute absence of melanin. The tiny robots were supposed to go dormant and become inert zinc molecules after consuming a certain number of cells infected by the virus. The nanites modified the immune system as intended, but the T-cell population had inexplicably skyrocketed. They found normally pigmented skin and effectively killed the melanin-producing melanocytes, which meant that exposure to the sun became a problem for the patient. It also meant that Julian and Simon needed to find a safe place to hide now that the day had run its course.
He looked for a small abandoned property. Small, because he knew the turned had a predilection for larger buildings that allowed a pack to nest in complete darkness. Abandoned, because if there were no human inhabitants before the event, there was less of a chance the turned would be there.
He spotted a little cottage off the interstate that didn’t have any cars parked next to it. He had already passed the off-ramp that led to the home. He found an emergency vehicle turnaround across the median a mile up the road, reversed course, and exited I-85.
Simon stirred, then his eyes opened and he looked at his father. Daddy never let his whiskers get very long except at Christmastime, when he would take a whole week off to spend with him. “Is it Christmas, daddy?”
Julian completely missed the reason for the question and thought that perhaps his son was having a dream before waking. “No Simon, it is June, summertime. Were you having a dream of Christmas?”
This confused Simon. “No daddy. You only let your whiskers grow at Christmastime.”
Julian laughed. “I am sorry son, but no, it is not Christmas.”
“I wish it was Christmas, then we could all spend the day playing in the snow, you, mommy, me, and Angelina. Where are mommy and Angelina, daddy?”
“They had to go away, Simon. They did not want to, but they had to. I did not want them to go, and I know you did not want them to go either, but nonetheless, son, they are gone.”
“Will we ever see them again daddy?”
They both had tears running down their faces. “I do not know Simon, I do not know. Maybe when we have to go too.”
“I want to go now, daddy.”
Julian stopped the car, bent over, enveloped his son in a hug, and wept. “No Simon, it is not time for us to go yet.”
“I love you daddy. I miss mommy and Angelina, but I will not leave you alone daddy.”
Julian sat up and looked at Simon. “Thank you Simon, I will not leave you alone either, that is a promise.” He could see the relief flood the boy’s countenance. How could I be so dense? Julian thought. He is terrified I will die and leave him on his own. “Are we good, son?” He held his fist out to Simon. Simon bumped it with his own little fist. “Yes daddy, we are good.” Julian wiped his eyes and drove to the little cottage on the frontage road.
They parked in the circular dirt driveway and both got out the driver’s side. Julian called out, “Hello, is anyone there?” There was no response. The wooden porch was painted gray, the paint worn and chipped. Lace curtains were visible inside the windows. A breeze blew and the chimes that hung at the corner of the house tinkled together.
Julian bent and opened the gate that attached to an arbor covered in dead grapevines. He pulled Simon along by the hand.
“Daddy, I do not like this place.”
“It is a lovely little house, Simon. Come on.”
The porch protested his ascent by squeaking as Julian climbed toward the front door. The window rattled in its frame when he knocked on the door. After a moment, he tried the door and found it unlocked. Again, he called out into the front room, “Hello, is anyone there?” When there was no response, he beckoned Simon to follow. Reluctantly, the boy climbed the stairs and came to stand behind his father.
Julian pushed the door open and took a few steps inside. The house felt hollow. His footsteps disturbed the fake Persian carpet, giving off little puffs of dust that danced in the streaks of sunlight beaming in through the west-facing windows. Pictures lining the mantel showed a family’s march through its own personal history. An old black-and-white photo of a young couple getting married began the story. Several more depicted the eventual addition of first one child, then over time, three more; another picture of the couple well into their golden years; then a picture of only the woman, looking out through the sad eyes of a widow.
Julian did a cursory search of the entire house, upstairs, ground level, and basement, proving his earlier gut feeling that the house was empty. Satisfied that they were alone, he proceeded to make a more thorough search of the place.
The main floor was composed of a living room, dining room, kitchen, and parlor with an attached bathroom. There was nothing of import in any of these rooms. The kitchen cupboards were bare other than dishes and some spices. He went upstairs and found two more bedrooms and a bath that serviced both. He surmised that the sparsely decorated first bedroom was a guest room. The other room smelled like an old person and had a well-lived-in feel. In the closet he found an old revolver. It was loaded, but he could find no additional bullets anywhere. He went back downstairs and found Simon sitting on the floor looking through a photo album.
“Do you think this family had to go away too, daddy?”
Julian wanted to scream at the child, to lose his pent-up guilt for turning the world upside down with his medical meddling, for ruining the chance that his son would ever feel safe again. He took a deep breath. “I think that only the mother lived here, Simon. Maybe her son came and got her and they are all together at his home. Come with me, it will be cooler down in the basement.”
It was cooler in the basement, but that wasn’t why Julian wanted go down there. He found a hammer and some nails and nailed the door shut behind them. They followed the flashlight beam down the stairs and looked around the basement. What Julian really wanted was to find the water heater. He hoped that it would provide them a much-needed drink. Mr. Pierce had given them some bottled water but they had exhausted that earlier in the day.
What they found was even better than rusty water from an old water heater. Georgia is known for its peaches, and they found a row of shelving full of quart jars of canned peaches. They sat on an old musty mattress, ate peaches, and drank the sweet juice until they both were full. Then they set up camp among the old woman’s junk that had accumulated over the years. Julian nailed a couple of boards over the only window and they settled in for the night.
The shrieking began about two hours after the sun went down. Julian was a little bit surprised. He thought that they were far enough away from the city that there wouldn’t be many of the turned close by. He was clearly mistaken.
They kept Julian awake most of the night, attacking the house in waves. He concluded that every so often a pack would pass close enough to catch their scent. Then they would try desperately to get into the house. During the fourth or fifth attack, Julian heard them make it into the house. He pulled Simon a little closer and hoped they’d make it through the night. He had never been one that believed in a higher power, but right then he sent out a prayer to any takers asking for help.
The door at the top of the stairs was as old as the house and had a crack an inch wide at the bottom. The stomping footfalls were chaotic, but when they started shrieking right outside the door Simon woke and would have screamed had his father not covered his mouth.
“No Simon, you must be quiet,” Julian whispered fiercely. He got up and pulled the old revolver from the bag in which he had stored it. He heard the sniffing under the door in between the loud shrieks. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and waited.
He stood like that for the rest of the night, certain that those poor souls on the other side of the door knew it was he who was responsible for turning them into the base creatures they now were. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew
they could communicate telepathically. While his wife was still alive after turning, she could induce a rage in his assistant Eddie, who turned also while in a different room. He had observed this by watching both while monitoring them during his efforts to return them to normal. Also, while she was still somewhat coherent, his wife had screamed at him that Angelina was scared and that she wanted her mommy.
All these thoughts swirled around in his head as he waited for the door to burst open and for the turned to exact their revenge. Were it not for his promise to Simon, and his need to rectify his mistake by delivering the data to those who might be able to reverse the vaccine’s effects, he would simply put the revolver in his mouth and end it.
Chapter 16
Day 4
Charlie’s Gun Shop
North Myrtle Beach, SC
Auddy & Danny
The smell of the ocean wafted with the soft breeze that blew Auddy’s hair across her face. She pulled the hair back behind her ear and smiled at Danny, who held her hand as they walked down the beach. She loved the beach. Although Danny could take it or leave it, he would come with her when she wanted him to.
Danny pulled her into an embrace and kissed her as the waves sucked the sand from beneath their feet. “I have to go now,” he said wistfully.
“What are you talking about? Go where? The clubhouse is a wreck—no one’s going to show up for golf lessons.”
He pulled away from her and walked out into the surf. That’s odd, he’s going to get his clothes all wet. “Danny, come back! Where are you going?”
He just smiled. “Gotta go Aud. I love you.” And with that he walked into the waves without looking back. She tried to chase him but her feet were stuck in the sand; she couldn’t move.
She woke gagging, no idea where she was. Then, seeing Doug lying in his own blood, she remembered it all in a flood. She tried to stand, but the morphine in her system sent her head reeling. She bent forward and gagged some more. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she turned to Danny.
He lay there, pallid and still. She moved to his side and put her hand to his forehead. He was cold. She felt his neck, looking for a pulse. She couldn’t feel one. Normally you would assume at this point that this person was dead. He wasn’t; he was in a diabetic coma. Her grandfather had been a diabetic and she knew. Danny was not dead, or so she desperately wanted to believe. She put her head against his chest. It moved, ever so slightly, but it moved, and she could hear a faint heartbeat. She searched his pockets for his glucose meter to test his blood. It wasn’t there. It must be in the truck.
She didn’t know if his sugar was extremely high or extremely low, but she had to make sure before trying to treat him. If she guessed wrong it would kill him. Most of the time when he’d get goofy she knew it was low, but she couldn’t risk pouring a sugary drink into him until she was sure. And if it was high, she needed his insulin pen from the truck too. She didn’t even know if it was dark or light outside, and her pistol was out of ammunition. The truck was outside, just ten feet from the back door, but she also couldn’t risk going outside without any bullets.
She went to Doug’s body. She carefully searched it and found his keys. She picked up her pistol and went back to Danny. “Danny, if you can hear me, I have to get your meter and pen. I’ll be right back. Don’t you dare die on me!”
She went to the front of the building where the gun stuff was and found the ammunition in the safe. She went through four keys before finding the right one and then it took her another few minutes to find the correct caliber. She reloaded and shoved the rest of the box into her back pocket, then ran like hell for the back door.
When she got to the door, she slowed. Opening it just a crack, she saw Charlie lying where he fell. The pool of light wasn’t bright, but it encompassed the truck they’d liberated from the golf course. She listened closely for any sign that there were zombies around. With no shrieks to be heard, she quietly pushed through the doorway and unlocked the door, double-checking to make sure she wasn’t going to have to fumble for keys on her way back in.
The air was still heavy, the day’s humid heat only partially diminished. Her shirt immediately clung to her as sweat began pouring from her. The sweat wasn’t from the heat as much as it was from the absolute fear that gripped her. She gave herself a little pep talk as she prepared to make a run for the truck. Come on Auddy, you can do this.
She counted down in her head. Three, two, one, go! Nevertheless, her feet remained frozen to the ground. Her muscles ached from the tension building in them. Come on Auddy, you’re making a big deal out of this for no reason. Just walk over, open the door, get what you need, and casually walk back to the shop. She heard a shriek that sounded like it was coming from out front. She shook herself from the paralyzing fear and walked the ten feet to the truck.
She opened the door, her heartbeat the only thing she could hear, reached in, and grabbed Danny’s pack. She turned toward the building, coming face-to-face with a mottled zombie as it came around the corner.
She dropped the bag and raised her pistol. The report was not nearly as loud out here in the open as it was inside. She must have missed with the first couple of shots because the thing kept coming. She pointed the gun down more and squeezed the trigger again. This time the zombie fell, coming to rest only a few feet away.
Auddy quickly bent to retrieve the bag when a second and then a third zombie came around the end of the building. Down on one knee, she shot the second one and saw the bullet rip through its head, sending brains splattering onto the next. She fired again, only to hear the pathetic click of the hammer landing on an empty chamber. She pulled the trigger a couple more times with the same sickening results. There was no way she would make it to the door. She turned and dove onto the seat of the truck. She leaned up to grab the door to close it, but it was too late. The zombie crashed into the opened door and turned toward Auddy. Somewhere deep inside her, an indignant voice said, Screw this! She leaned back and kicked the thing square in the chest. It landed on its ass and started scrambling around to get up. Auddy grabbed the door and slammed it shut, then frantically began trying to reload her pistol. She momentarily forgot to pull the release and the chamber wouldn’t come open. The zombie regained its footing and hurled itself against the window, shrieking out its frustration. Auddy flinched so badly that she dropped the pistol. She ducked down to search the floor of the cab and the window exploded inward. The bits of glass now covered her and the floor where she continued to feel for the gun. She ignored the cuts she was getting and finally felt the grip of the pistol. The zombie was about a quarter of the way into the cab and she began kicking it again. She got one bullet into the round thingy and locked it back in place. The zombie, half its body now through the window, had caught ahold of her foot and was struggling to bite her. She pointed the gun at its head and pulled the trigger. It clicked, she pulled it again, it clicked again, she pulled it one more time and it fired. The bullet struck her foot and continued through her shoe to slap into the open mouth of the zombie. It fell limp on the seat and Auddy escaped out the driver’s door. She grabbed the bag, hobbled around the front of the truck, and made for the building.
Once inside with the door locked, she fell to the floor and rolled onto her back, her breath coming in great gasps. After a few minutes, she got to her feet and went to Danny. Her hands still shaking from the adrenalin, she pricked his finger and put the spot of blood onto the test strip, inserted the strip into the tester, and waited. The tester’s LED blinked a couple of seconds and then flashed “43.” That was extremely low. Auddy grabbed the orange soda she had scavenged from the fridge. She held Danny’s head up and poured the sugar-laden drink into his mouth a little at a time.
“Come on Danny, swallow this, it will help. Come on baby.” She hadn’t cried for at least a few hours and fought to hold back the tears as she managed to get some of the pop down him. She looked down at her foot and saw blood. The bullet had grazed the inside of her left
foot; it went inside the collar of the shoe and created a three-inch line from her ankle to the bottom of her instep, nothing more than an annoyance. It blew a hole in bottom of the shoe and the top of the zombie’s head. “You’re going to have to take me shoe shopping after this, Danny.”
Chapter 17
Day 4
Interstate 85
Braselton, GA
Dr. Ruegg & Simon
The shrieking ceased about an hour before sunrise. Julian continued to stand at the bottom of the steps, making sure the turned had left for good. He could see the sun peeking through the cracks of the board he had hammered over the window. He had to urinate; he pried the boards off the door and quietly made his way through the kitchen, went down the porch stairs, and peed. He made his way back to the basement and locked the door behind himself. He thought about nailing the boards up again, but with the turned gone, he didn’t see the need. He went and lay down next to Simon on the old mattress. He needed to get at least a few hours’ sleep before continuing into Atlanta. He set the alarm on his watch to wake him at nine a.m. Sleep took him almost immediately.
He dreamed of his wife and daughter. They were on a picnic at one of their favorite state parks. His wife was laughing as he and Angelina were having a tickle fight. The small girl also laughed with glee, protesting between giggles that she was on his side. Whenever Julian and the kids wrestled on the floor, it would always start with his two children teaming up to take him on. Soon after it started and he had both in fits of laughter as he tickled them, Angelina would turn on her brother and announce, “I’m on daddy’s side.” It was her way of dealing with being on the losing end of the fight. Simon, however, would never give in. He would remain resolute and continue to fight back. Sometimes it worried Julian that Simon would never acquiesce; no matter how securely Julian had him pinned, he would refuse to surrender. Sometimes in life, the only way to survive was to retreat, and it appeared that Simon didn’t see it that way.
Apocalypse Family (Book 2): Family Reunion J Page 10
