by Red Lagoe
"Me too. We just have to make it a couple of miles."
Kayla wondered if Marcus was as terrified as she was to step foot out of the room.
He moved his shaking hand to the metal handle of Lab One's door, and turned the lock. The click of the unlocking bolt echoed like a shotgun blast through the silent halls. Marcus froze with his fingers grasping the handle, awaiting movement from outside the door, but the hallway remained still. He cracked the door open while Kayla clung to his left arm.
He yanked away. "I need to be able to fight off-"
"Sorry," she said, and pulled her arms in close to her body, inching behind Marcus as he stepped out the door.
He gripped the chair leg in both hands and kept it raised above his shoulder, ready to swing. Unable to see much of anything before them but the light at the end of the hall, Kayla shuffled along the wall with Marcus. A distant groan drifted from the opposite end of the hallway—the end that was shrouded in blackness—and Kayla clenched onto Marcus's bicep, digging her fingernails into his skin.
They hurried down the hall and into the open office space, where the diffuse light from the overcast day filled the room from beneath the roman shades.
Kayla ran to the window and exhaled in relief to be out of the dark. She pulled the cord to the shades, raising the fabric and allowing more light to flood the room. Marcus placed his hand against the window, staring down at the foggy town from the third floor.
The gas station next door had been blackened and destroyed, still smoldering.
"Guess we know where the explosion came from," he said.
Abandoned vehicles cluttered the street, and scattered corpses lay rotting on the pavement. With no signs of the infected wandering the streets, they both looked into each other's eyes and sighed with alleviation.
"Do you think it's over?" she asked as she stood beside Marcus, looking out the window at the barren town.
"I don't know," he answered.
Kayla looked up to him, thankful that he had rescued her. Her heart became heavy and impassioned as she realized that she would be lost without him. Kayla didn't think of herself as the type to fall in love quite so readily, but it was possible that this man could be the one. She stood on her toes, grabbed hold of his lab coat lapels, and pressed him against the floor-to-ceiling window, wondering if they were the last two people on Earth.
Marcus, startled by her sudden attack, gave into her and let her kiss him, despite the danger that still lurked within the building. He dropped the chair leg to the floor, grabbed her by the round buttocks, hoisted her up around his waist, and spun her around to press her against the window.
The jovial feeling of twirling and the whipping of her hair through the air put a smile on her face. She was never letting him go.
A deep moaning sound from down the hall caused Kayla to freeze while Marcus continued to suck upon the flesh of her neck. Kayla stared toward the black opening of the hallway and tapped on Marcus's back, trying to get his attention.
"What?" He looked at her panicked face and heard the shuffling feet coming down the hall. He released his grasp on her, dropping her to the floor as Dr. Carter dredged into the office.
They were spotted. Marcus fumbled for the chair leg and charged across the office. He tried to squeeze between Dr. Carter and the cubicle wall, but he was not fast enough. He caught hold of Marcus’s coat.
Kayla remained by the window, screaming, as Marcus fell, with his coat in Dr. Carter's grasp. He bit into the cotton fabric as Marcus pulled away, trying to slide out of the coat.
Marcus shimmied free and took off running toward the stairwell.
"Hey!" she hollered to him, and he stopped at the entry of the stairwell.
"Come on!" he yelled.
She ran to Marcus, petrified to pass so close to Dr. Carter, but the beastly man ripped into Marcus’s coat, thoroughly distracted by the fabric.
They left the infected Dr. Carter in the office space, gnawing the coat with his teeth, shaking it like a dog's chew toy.
18
Time to Go
The neighborhood was draped in a shroud of gray mist and a mound of dead bodies lay in the street, with blood seeping out from under them and soaking into the pavement. Candace was under that pile somewhere, and Melody hoped she was at least at peace. Melody counted eleven of the infected that were upright and wandering the neighborhood. Some were walking in circles, while others lashed out at each other. An infected man in black slacks and a blue pinstriped necktie smacked into the wall of a house at the taper of the cul-de-sac. He backed up and walked into it again and again. Melody watched their mindless behavior with a blank stare. The infected man in the loose necktie thumped into the siding of the house again. His attire—with the exception of the blood and dirt—reminded her of Marcus, and that thought shook her from her trance.
Time to go. She backed away from the window and moved to John's kitchen sink to wash her blood-splattered arms while John was upstairs changing his clothes. His kitchen was simple. There were no pictures on the walls. Nothing but empty nail heads where pictures used to hang. His ex-wife had cleaned him out, apparently.
As she dried her arms, she spotted an empty prescription bottle of Vicodin sitting on the shelf over his sink and wondered how long he had been without his drugs. She could not justify dragging him out into town, possibly to his death. Melody was certain that John felt obligated to help her and she was ready to relieve him of those obligations. John would be fine on his own. He was a damn SEAL.
She snuck to the back door, wondering if she could make it to her house for her bag of supplies before taking off to the lab. She could get out of the neighborhood before John ever came down those steps. Melody peeked over her shoulder to be sure he was still upstairs, then cracked open the wooden door to the backyard to see if it was clear. A daunting feeling of guilt sat heavy upon her shoulders for considering leaving John behind, but it had to be safer for him this way. She was sure.
As Melody stood in the doorway, contemplating how to proceed, John placed his hand on her shoulder. She tugged away from him and closed the door.
"What are you, a fucking ninja?" she said.
"Where are you going?"
"I have to-"
"Eat," John said, holding up an open can of chicken noodle soup with a spoon stuck inside of it. "You need to eat."
Melody shook her head, sick to her stomach. "I need to go."
He pulled out a spoonful of soup and shoveled it into his mouth, sucking up a noodle between his lips.
"Calories," he said. "Human body can't do shit without them. Believe me, I know. Weakness, exhaustion, hallucinations...all that shit that comes when you don't eat. We don't need any of that while we're out there."
She gave in, and took the damn can of soup from his hands. Each bite slithered down her esophagus and splashed into her empty belly, making her want to vomit.
"I've got gauze, anti-bacterial ointments, tape, camelback full of water, quick-clot..." He patted his green pack. John flung his rifle over his back and strapped his knife to his hip. "We should get you a better weapon," he said.
"I want this." She cradled her bat in her hands.
He pulled another knife from the side pocket of his bag and slid it out of the sheath to show Melody.
"Carry this too, just in case," he said.
The blade scraped the inside of the poly-vinyl sheath in a pitch that triggered Melody's memory of Candace's screams. John knelt down in front of Melody to secure the seven inch blade within the sheath to her belt loop on her right hip. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the reverberation of the haunting screams. The ghostly sound of their hands pounding on the door, the gunfire, the moans... The song played in her head.
She worried about what would happen to John if he came along with her. She worried for the town and wondered how many people had died. Her thoughts spiraled outward, and her heart hurt for the millions of people that had been infected. Melody wondered how she coul
d be of any help to anyone, and a pressure built up within her skull from the overwhelming stress. One step at a time. One problem at a time. It was how she survived as a homeless teen, and it was how she planned to survive this. She inhaled and exhaled, one breath at a time, and focused on starting with helping one person—Marcus.
"Do you have a dog?" John blurted.
Melody's mind drifted back to the room she stood in.
"A cat maybe?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest. His questions helped Melody drown out the memory of Candace's screams. He wore a plain brown tee that hung over the waist of his cargo shorts—which covered his knee where the prosthesis connected to his leg. He wore a holster on his hip that carried a pistol.
"No," Melody said, appreciative of his attempt to change her mood with a conversation. "Marcus was allergic," she said, but quickly corrected herself. "Marcus is allergic."
"How tragic—a veterinarian without pets." John peeked out the window toward her house. An infected person laid on Melody's porch, but they couldn't tell if she was dead or sleeping.
"Do you have pets?" Melody asked.
"I had a cat, but Jackie—my ex—took her...Along with everything else."
She nodded, looking around his empty home, and realized that she needed to stop having small talk. Melody rubbed her fingers on her forehead, as if she could scrub off the emotional turmoil that clouded her thoughts.
"You don't have to do this," she said. "You don't have to come with me."
She had to give him a chance to back out.
John's eyebrows scowled.
"It's a few miles and I'm planning on running."
"I can run," John said, defending his disability.
Melody huffed, "Are you going to slow me down?"
John smiled and ran his fingers through his short hair. "You know, if you said this shit to me a year ago—back when I was all angry about this stupid leg—I would've been pissed. Luckily, I'm not a spiteful asshole anymore."
"So this is you not being a spiteful asshole? I couldn't tell."
"You haven't been a peach to be around either, Sweetheart."
"Look, I don't need to drag anyone down with me while I go-"
"I get it," he interrupted, "but what am I supposed to do? Let you go alone?"
"Yes!" She raised her voice and then quieted herself so the infected wouldn't hear her through the walls. "Yes. I am perfectly capable."
"I'm sure you are a regular Chuck Norris," he laughed in belief, "but if you go alone, then you'll be leaving me here alone. What the hell am I going to do if you leave?"
Melody couldn't tell if his desperation to stay with her was out of concern for her safety or if this man genuinely did not want to be alone. She stood before him without a good counter argument.
"Well, what are you going to do if-"
"Don't argue with me, Chuck. I am leaving, too. We may as well go together and have each other's backs. I don't even like this house anyway."
John had checked the neighborhood from a vantage point on the porch rooftop. Clusters of infected roamed Elpis Court, but the fenced backyards were mostly clear, so they went out the back door and climbed over the fence into Melody's yard.
She charged into the house, grabbed her back pack of supplies that she had packed the day before, and changed into a fresh set of clothes—jeans and black tee shirt. Her red "Save the Tatas" tee that she purchased at a fundraiser for breast cancer back when her mom had fought the battle. She didn't think twice about the faded light pink lettering on her shirt.
She hoisted her pack on her back, and her heart was already wailing against her chest in preparation of their journey.
"Nice shirt," John said, as Melody came out of the living room after changing. "Ready?"
She nodded, but it was a lie. She was not ready for any of this.
19
Travel Companion
Marcus was charged with adrenaline as he ran down the pitch black stairwell with Kayla after their encounter with Dr. Carter. Silent and black, with the exception of their own pulses thumping, and the pounding of their feet on the steps.
They spilled out of the stairwell door into the large open space of the lobby, panting for a moment after their daring escape. The lobby was open and light with large windows stretching across the entire front wall. The air—though it was still tinged with the aroma of dead bodies—smelled fresher on the first floor.
"My keys were in that coat," Marcus said, pacing before the large window, pissed with himself for leaving it behind.
"That's OK," said Kayla, "I still need to get shoes."
She looked around the room as if to find a pair of size-sixes laying around.
"I'm not going back up there," he said and looked down at her dainty feet. "Not for shoes or keys."
It was a couple of miles to the high school from the lab by cutting across town, but now they didn't have the keys to the car. Marcus knew Kayla would slow him down. He placed his hands on her arms, caressing her skin and leaning in close to comfort her for what he was about to suggest. Poor kid probably wouldn't take it well.
"We don't know how bad it is out there," he explained. "I should go check out the road to the quarantine zone and then-"
"No!" she argued, grabbing his arms with desperation in her big green eyes.
"I can't risk taking you out there. You could get hurt."
Kayla's face scrunched up with fury, and she yelled back.
"I can't be alone anymore!" She pleaded with him not to leave her, throwing herself against his chest with tears in her eyes like a damn damsel in distress.
"I'll get shoes," she promised and ran to the lobby window to scan the area outside. A thick fog obscured the view, but they could spot a couple of dead bodies in the parking lot.
"There. I'll get shoes from one of them," she said.
The thought of her prying shoes from a corpse made Marcus sick to his stomach.
"I can't be alone anymore. Please," she said.
Whether he wanted her along or not, this girl was not going to give up. Marcus would have to give in a little for the time being or she was sure to put up a loud fuss. He would let the girl tag along, at least until they got closer to the quarantine zone, but then he'd have to cut ties with her.
"Fine. But I don't think this is a good idea."
With no signs of the infected in sight, he pushed opened the glass door and stepped outside. The late morning sky clouded over and a dense fog released its embrace from the earth. Kayla latched on to Marcus's arm as they walked into the vacant parking lot, inspecting their surroundings.
Marcus checked the few cars that were left behind in the lot, but none had keys. "Looks like we're walking," he said.
Windows were shattered out, and burn marks scarred the sides of brick buildings along Horace Ave.
Kayla headed with caution toward the body that was face down in the parking lot. She leaned down over the feet of the deceased man, who was wearing a blood-stained yellow polo shirt and jeans. She covered her mouth in disgust. His feet appeared too sizable for her tiny feet, but before she had a moment to figure out whether or not they would work, an infected man walked into view from farther down Horace Avenue. His body was silhouetted in the fog as he circled the street by the bus stop on the corner.
"Damn," Marcus whispered and ducked beside her.
"We gotta go." He pointed toward the man, and the silhouettes of dozens of others began to appear in the distant fog.
"No," Kayla whispered in disbelief that there were still infected wandering around outside. "I thought it was over out here."
"Let's go!" Marcus grabbed her by her arm before she could get the shoes off the man's body and yanked her in the direction of the old railroad tracks that laid perpendicular to the dead end street.
In their sudden scramble to get away, Marcus ran through a patch of shattered glass, pulling Kayla's bare feet right through it.
Kayla stopped as the stabbing sensation of a million tiny
swords shot up from the ground and into the soles of her feet, but Marcus released her arm and continued forward.
He gained at least thirty yards on her before he realized she had fallen behind.
She tried to brush away the shards of glass with her hands, but had to sit down to pluck some of the tiny pieces from her feet. Her eyes were flooded with tears, but she got back to her feet ready to continue on.
Her parents never believed she could handle life without them. Her friends didn't think that she could study biology, because she wasn't smart enough. Her boyfriend didn't believe she could be anything more than a great waitress. But she believed in herself—that she would study hard and someday make breakthroughs in Alzheimer's medications, so nobody would have to suffer like her grandmother did.
Yet despite her drive, she always seemed to fall short of her own goals, always tripped over something—in this case, trampled through shattered glass—and her friends and family were always standing by to announce "I told you so."
She couldn't let Marcus think poorly of her as well. She would prove to him that she was capable of surviving.
As she tried to tiptoe, remnant glass in the balls of her feet fired jolts of pain with each step, so she walked on the sides of her feet, twisting her ankles in a way that was sure to do more damage. The attempt to avoid any more broken glass and the blood-soaked pavement where bodies once laid, proved useless.
Marcus hoped she'd work it out on her own, but she was moving too slowly.
"Son of a bitch."
He ran back to her and helped her brush away more glass from her soles.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought they were coming. I didn't even notice the glass. Are you good, Hun?"
He helped her back up and held her hand to continue down Horace Ave.
"Where are we going?" Kayla whimpered as they walked passed the dead end sign.
