Fair Haven

by Red Lagoe

  Kayla pressed her hands against the heavy security door while she heaved out of breath.

  The sick ones outside pattered against the door with wild thumps, growling among each other, fighting and thrashing as they wailed against the door, and against each other. Marcus and Kayla shoved the desk against the door and backed up.

  As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, light seeped in through the edge of the blinds on the door window. Despite the men banging against it, the window did not break.

  The small amount of light exposed an office with a green comforter spread out in the corner. A milk crate sat against the wall with an unlit oil lantern and a lighter. An orange floral blanket laid wadded on top of the comforter, like it was used as a pillow. The putrid smell from the small attached bathroom filled the small office.

  The thuds of the infected waned as minutes went by. Marcus and Kayla stood with their backs against the far wall, flinching with each thump.

  As the infected retreated, Kayla slid down to the floor, and Marcus paced the room, devising a plan to get themselves out of that office.

  "You stayed with me," she said.

  She combed her shaking hands through her red hair in an attempt to brush it out, and Marcus wondered if she knew that he had considering leaving her behind. He didn't have the heart to hurt the girl's feelings quite yet, after what they had been through.

  He placed his hands in his pants pockets, tilted his head to look at the trembling redhead, and sat down beside her on the comforter.

  "Of course," he smiled, "I couldn't leave you."

  25

  The Quarantine Camp

  They walked for at least another mile in silence before Melody led John back into the woods on the path that led to Mariner's hill. Her eyes were still stinging with the tears over that damn dog she didn't even know, yet she couldn't seem to shed a drop for her own husband.

  The drizzling rain transformed to a fine mist, and they plugged on toward the base of the hill. Melody's drenched clothes were glued to her body. Her tee shirt suctioned to her breasts and her old jeans, worn and loose, were barely hanging onto her hips.

  She could feel John's eyes on her from behind as her hips rocked to and fro with each step up the muddy incline. Her jeans seemed to shift lower with each step.

  She could hear him wince in pain with each step, but he refused to say anything. The prosthetic blade slipped and stuck in the mud, making the upward climb difficult for him, but he plowed through the pain without a word.

  An opening in the trees at the top of the hill came into view. They were almost to the top.

  But a distant sound of branches cracking behind them forced her attention back down the hillside. She froze on guard, holding a thin young tree for support, and peered through the trees for movement.

  There was nothing.

  Beyond the whisper of the rain on the pines, a low hum of voices could be heard coming from over the hill. The murmur from the quarantine zone pierced the air.

  "Do you hear that?" Melody asked, looking back to John.

  He nodded.

  They quickened their pace, sinking into the mud deeper with each step up the hill. In that moment, she was warmed by the prospect of hope. She was eager to find refuge, to find out what people had learned about the disease, and to find Marcus.

  Perhaps he was there saving the world with his vaccine. Maybe life was about to get easier. She powered to the top of the hill, frantic to see, but as she approached the top, the murmur of voices seemed less human, and her short-lived dream of relief crashed before her.

  John and Melody looked in each other's eyes, knowing what they were about to see. They both lay down on their bellies at the top of the hill and crawled forward with dread within their guts.

  She first spotted the tops of the tents in the football field below. The large white tents were ripped—some were burned. She edged closer to bring the entire field into view. The fenced-in football field enclosed thousands of stammering people. Their colorless flesh and filthy clothes blended into a massive grey throng of bodies. Each body moving individually, but from afar, the crowd undulated like a swarm of locusts.

  At least half of them were not moving at all—laying in the mud, dead. Beyond the football field, and the fallen quarantine zone, was the high school—windows busted out with blackened burn marks on the brick. Cars were overflowing the parking lot beyond the school into the street and onto the grass of the school property out front. Between Melody and the fenced mass of bodies was the set of soccer fields, with at least a dozen infected wandering free.

  Melody released a heavy sharp exhale and rolled onto her back to look to the sky.

  "That's gotta be the whole damn town," John said.

  Melody lay on her back, concealed within the tall grasses at the top of the hill. Marcus was gone, and with that thought, her heart sank deeper into her chest cavity as if gravity tugged it so hard toward the earth that it could rip out her back. Her world spun in chaos as she realized she wasn't ready to give up on him yet.

  Tears welled within her eyes and she covered her sour face with her muddy hands, while John sat with reverence beside her. She would never know where Marcus was or what happened to him, and the unsolved mystery did not sit well within her. She squeezed her temple within the vice of her hands, trying not to let her brain explode from the trauma. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her eyes were peeled on the gray sky, thinking about all of the lives in that field below.

  Her body felt deadened from the events of the day and she would have liked to stay hidden with the tall wet grasses for all of eternity. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, smearing mud along her face, and she scowled at the sky in an attempt to stop crying.

  She pulled her orchid envelope from her back pocket and ran her finger along the seal, debating whether or not it was a good time to open it. She would've liked to give up like her dad did, but she tucked her feelings into the deepest corners of her being, and tucked her envelope back in her pocket and left them there, where she wouldn't have to deal with them yet.

  They lay on top of the hill in the fading daylight, with the groaning of the baritone voices rising from below.

  "It's getting late," John said.

  "Now what?" she asked with a weak voice, exhausted, with a total loss of hope.

  John stood up and held out his hand to help her up.

  "We find that boat and get the hell out of here," he said.

  26

  It’s All Downhill

  The lake cottages were not far from the school, but Melody was drained, unsure if she had the stamina or willpower to carry on. But there was a drive within her—deep within the core of her anatomy—that forced her to her feet to seek shelter.

  Survival instincts trumped her overwhelming sense of demise, and she and John walked down the grassy side of Mariner's hill. The fenced in football field was far enough away—beyond the soccer fields at the bottom of the hill—that the infected within the fences were unaware of them as they crept down. A baker's dozen of infected souls staggered outside of the fenced area in the soccer fields nearby. At least 30 dead bodies peppered the same fields. An infected man entangled within the netting of the soccer goal tossed and turned in the grass, while others walked small individual circles, falling to the side frequently.

  Gravity pulled Melody's body with ease down the hill and onto the flat grasses near the soccer fields. She made it to the stretch of privacy fencing that lined the school property and the backs of the homes on Carlisle Road.

  She squinted her eyes, staring toward the football field fences, trying to make out faces within the crowd, but it was too far away. If Marcus was in there, she wouldn't be able to pick him out among the mass of muddied bodies.

  She hunched over and followed John, who hobbled forward with his pistol ready, along the privacy fencing. Ahead was the school's old outdoor equipment shed, where she had slept for a while when she was homeless.

  It called t
o her, like the car chassis had called to her earlier. She wanted to crawl in through the window and hide for the night, but she was done hiding. As they approached the back of the shed, she heard growling from the opposite side and then the slow groan of a man.

  John motioned for her to follow him around the back of the shed, but Melody fell back and went to the front.

  It was the boxer dog. A spark of hope ignited some life back into her at the sight of him. The dog was face to face with a pale, chubby infected man in a gray tank top. The man's left arm suffered severe injury at the elbow—skin torn, muscles and tendons exposed. His forearm dangled from the joint, and his blood had clotted and crusted at the wound.

  With a deadly groan, the grotesque man lunged toward the boxer, which was backed against the recessed entrance of the storage shed.

  "Hey!" John whispered to her when he came out from behind the other side of the shed.

  The heavy, sick man charged at the dog, and the dog barked. The sound of barking roused the attention of the infected in the soccer fields.

  "Chuck!" John raised his voice as Melody snuck up behind the infected man with her baseball bat over her shoulder.

  The man snarled and lunged at the dog, but he dodged his attack and barked again, this time attracting the masses inside the fenced football field.

  Moaning from behind the fence intensified and the metal rattled and creaked. Melody lunged forward with her bat and wailed the man in the back of his head, sending him to his knees as the dog cowered and stepped back with a whimper.

  The man was quick to get back to his feet and fly at Melody, but she dropped her bat and groped at her hip searching for her knife.

  John sprinted toward her, hampered by a severe limp, as Melody whipped the knife from its sheath and plowed toward him, driving the blade at his head.

  Melody kept her lips tight, and she flinched as his face came within a foot from hers. His eyes were evil and full of an inhuman rage as the blade punctured the surface of his temple with a great force.

  Melody held her breath, and the knife slid with ease the rest of the way into his head. She cringed at the sensation and released the knife as the man's body dropped to the ground.

  More infected from the soccer fields crept closer.

  She scrunched her face and shuddered, as she put a foot on the corpse's shoulder to force the blade out of his skull.

  "You OK?" John asked with concerned admiration in his expression.

  Melody winced and gagged as she wiped the blood from her knife onto the tank top of the dead man. She nodded with a violent shiver, trying to shake off the disgust and tension of the moment.

  The bodies were approaching—they were within 20 yards, so John and Melody hustled to the privacy fence line and raced as fast as their tired legs could carry them. John's limp worsened, and Melody's legs turned to rubber.

  The quarantine camp fence shimmied more. The sound of groaning, laced with the creaking of the metal was daunting.

  Melody's drenched clothes hung heavily from her body, like she carried an extra fifty pounds. Infected were approaching from all sides, and the property was too long to run without getting trapped by them.

  They had to go over the fence.

  John leapt up, hanging onto the top of the wooden fence to glance into a yard. It was vacant. Without saying a word to each other, John knelt down and gestured for Melody to climb up. He hoisted her upward and she swung over the fence, then she grabbed a plastic lawn chair from the other side and pulled it up against the wall.

  She climbed up as John lifted the dog over for her to catch. Melody held out her hand to help John over, but instead, he stepped back, sprinted a few steps toward the wall and leapt up, swinging himself over and landing in a crouching stance with ease. He growled in pain as he landed and his prosthetic sunk into the muddy ground.

  The moaning and snarling of the infected from the school property intensified, and the smacking of their hands against the wooden privacy fence warned Melody to keep moving. The sound haunted Melody's thoughts, and the song replayed in her head from earlier in the day. Smacking of hands, gunfire, moaning, Candace's screams...

  "I need to stop," Melody panted, resting the weight of her upper body upon her knees, becoming lightheaded.

  John nodded and grabbed hold of his leg. He walked up to the back door of a two story house to peek in the windows. The lace curtains were wide open, and there was no sign of anyone inside. The fading overcast grey sky barely illuminated the rooms.

  "Looks empty," John said and went to work looking for a key.

  After checking under the door mat, above the door frame, and under the multitude of potted plants lining the back deck, they found one. They walked inside, ready to fight, but hoping to find refuge for a while.

  "Hello?" Melody said, to lure out any infected that may have been lurking inside.

  27

  Pent Up

  Kayla leaned her head on his shoulder, curling her body close to his within the confinement of the dank office.

  "At least we have water." Marcus smiled and pointed toward the water cooler in the corner that was less than a quarter full.

  "You're an optimist," Kayla said with a chuckle. Her heart raced, unable to slow down after the encounter outside.

  Though the infected seemed to have forgotten Marcus and Kayla were inside, they still lingered in the alleyway. Marcus kept peeking between the blinds every five minutes, hoping they would have moved on.

  "I really need some shoes that fit," Kayla said as she held her swollen and sore foot in her hands.

  "We haven't gotten very far today," Marcus said, "but with this weather and your feet, let's just rest here for now, and we'll get moving again when they clear out."

  "We haven't eaten all day." Kayla looked to him. "Nothin' but those chips this morning."

  "I know," he nodded. "There'll be food at the camp, or maybe we can find something nearby. We'll be alright for now."

  "I don't know," Kayla said, unsure of Marcus's plan. She felt like it would be better to keep moving, but she trusted Marcus's instincts.

  "First chance we get, we'll go. Maybe we can make a wrap for your feet while we wait."

  Kayla stood up and limped around the room searching the cabinets for something to eat, but found nothing. Her stomach growled. Her bloodied feet left tiny red footprints on the cream-tiled floor. She rummaged through the desk drawers and found nothing but a butter knife, empty peanut butter jar crawling with ants, and some candy wrappers.

  "I can't open this one." She jiggled the handle on the top desk drawer that was locked. Kayla and Marcus looked into each other's eyes defeated. Starving and scared, she sat beside him and began sawing at the fabric of the edge of the comforter with the butter knife. She ripped a few narrow strips of material from the blanket and wrapped her sore feet.

  "That's pretty clever," Marcus said.

  "Nobody said that about me before. Everyone thinks I'm an idiot."

  "I don't think that," Marcus said.

  Kayla talked Marcus's ear off in that small office. She went on and on about her life growing up on the west coast. Sickened with the thought of what may have happened to her parents and her little brother, she kept talking. She talked about her little toy ponies when she was a young girl. She talked about her high school sweetheart. Marcus was quiet and listened to her as she yammered on and on. She talked about volleyball and bike races with the neighborhood kids when she was younger.

  "We did that too," Marcus finally spoke up, "My grandparents had a cottage on Barton Road. You know, off Barton Harbor on the lake?"

  "Yeah?" Kayla was relieved he was finally talking.

  "It was my grandfather's lake house, but he left it to my parents. I haven't been there in years. It lost its appeal as I got older. The other kids and I would race bikes down that gravel road. I always won. I earned the title Baron of Barton Road." Marcus laughed.

  Kayla smiled and rested her head on his shoulder as he talke
d about his childhood.

  "They still have that cottage. You know, when I was a teenager, I'd ride my bike right from high school to the cottage on weekends. I used to go there and get high with my friends."

  "You used to get high?" Kayla's face lit up.

  "Surprised?" Marcus asked with a smug grin.

  "Yeah!" Kayla was relieved Marcus opened up to her. "So you went to high school here in Fair Haven?"

  "Yep."

  "The high school you went to is now the quarantine zone?"

  Marcus nodded. "Just a couple more miles away if we take the tracks. As soon as those assholes out there wander off, we'll get moving again. We'll head back toward the tracks if it's clear. A little ways farther down, these tracks arc out away from the town where it's a little more secluded, then they arc back right to the high school."

  The sound of moaning from outside the door waned, but the infected continued to wander in the alleyway like they walked into the row of sheds and forgot what they went there for. Kayla could still hear them moving around and tried to block out the sound with conversation.

  "Do your parents have a boat at that lake cottage?" Kayla asked.

  "What?"

  "Most people with a lake home have a boat. Do they have a boat, because we could-"

  "What? You wanna sail off into the sunset with me?" Marcus laughed.

  "Well not because it's romantic or anything. I thought maybe it could be an option if something goes wrong. Like a backup plan."

  "They winterized their boat with everyone else in town a few weeks ago. The boat's not even near the water right now, unfortunately."

  As the day went on, the infected continued to litter the alley of storage units outside of the office. Kayla filled up on water as the light of day faded, and darkness enveloped them again.

  The scuffing of deadened feet along the pavement waxed and waned, while Marcus and Kayla remained whispering inside. He lit the oil lantern and set it on the milk crate in the corner.