Chucklers: Laughter is Contagious

by Jeff Brackett

  “What’s up? Something wrong?” He blinked against the morning sunlight, chagrined at the thought that he had slept while the world tore itself apart.

  “No. The crowd outside has lost interest or something. They’ve moved on, and we figured it was a good time to get out.”

  Linton looked past his wife to see Emmet, still wearing his mask, and Lesslie, still wearing her bloody apron. “Why am I the only one still asleep?” Linton groaned as he got slowly to his feet.

  “We just got up a few minutes ago. Emmet looked outside and saw that the coast was clear.”

  Linton shuffled over to the window and lifted a single blind to peek outside. It was morning, and other than a bit of smoke in the air, it looked like a sunny morning. He looked around, watching for movement of any sort. But like Michelle had said, there wasn’t another soul in sight. He turned back, looked at Lesslie. “You work here, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Got a car?”

  “Yeah. And I already talked to Michelle. She says you got a place that’s safe from this?”

  “We do. You up for a trade?”

  “My car for a safe place to hole up? Hell yes.”

  Emmet stepped in. “Ah, Linton? I know you’re the head honcho and all, but didn’t you tell me that the supplies at the bunker limited the number of people you could take in?”

  Linton nodded. “Yep. We have supplies to support twenty people for a year.”

  “And the team has already trained and drilled together, right?”

  He nodded again. “Look, I know what you’re getting at, but after everything we’ve seen out there,” he nodded at the window, “do you really think all twenty Hive members are going to make it?”

  Emmet nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry.”

  Linton turned back to Lesslie. “You have anything here you need to get?”

  There was something in her eyes, but she shook her head. “Not anymore.” She pulled a set of keys from her pocket. “I’m ready when you are.”

  Emmet went out first, rifle at the ready as he went to the eastern corner. Linton slipped out behind him going to the west. After affirming that the area was clear for the moment, they waved the others out. There were two cars in the parking lot. Linton looked at Lesslie. “Which one’s yours?” he whispered.

  She held up the electronic key fob and pressed the button before Linton could stop her. Lights blinked and the horn beeped once on a Ford sedan. “Shit. Everyone, get in before we find out if the noise caught anyone’s attention.”

  Lesslie looked chagrinned as she realized her mistake.

  “Linton?”

  He turned to Emmet. “What?”

  “Look at the back of the truck.”

  “What?” There was no truck in the parking lot.

  Emmet pointed up the street where Linton’s pickup had come to rest against the freeway retaining wall. “Not all of it burned.”

  Heart beating with excitement, Linton saw that his friend’s words were true. The engine and most of the front cab were nothing but a charred husk, but most of the back was unburned. To be sure, most of their supplies were scattered all over the street, having obviously attracted the attention of the crazies last night. But there was no telling what might be left. All sorts of supplies had been packed in there. There was food, a shotgun, and several boxes of ammunition for all the firearms. If any of that was left…

  He ran to catch up with Michelle and Lesslie. “Don’t start the engine yet. Emmet and I are going to check the truck and see if any of our gear is salvageable.”

  “What if some of those… infected people see you?”

  “We’ll be careful. When you see us wave, come get us.”

  Michelle wanted to argue. Linton could see it. It was a testament to her trust in him that she held off and simply nodded.

  He and Emmet looked up and down the feeder road and saw no one. They quietly ran up to his truck and started digging through the scattered boxes. After only a minute, Emmet hissed at him. Linton looked up to see him holding a heavy box of nine millimeter ammunition cradled in his left arm. He knew that box held a thousand rounds of hollow points for the Glocks. He gave Emmet a thumbs up and kept combing through the debris. There was a twelve-gauge shotgun in the truck when they had bailed out, and he was hoping to find it. But after a few minutes, he gave up. Determined that he wouldn’t leave empty handed, he grabbed a knapsack that he knew was filled with freeze-dried camping food.

  He waved back at Lesslie and Michelle and heard the engine crank up. It drove home how eerily silent the city was at the moment, and he looked around at the abandoned automobiles again. Who would have thought a city of more than two million people could ever be this quiet?

  The Ford pulled up beside them, and he climbed in the back seat beside Michelle. He couldn’t help but be disappointed at the fact that out of all the scattered remains they saw, there wasn’t more of value left of the truck and its cargo. Depressed and frowning, Linton waited as Emmet climbed into the passenger seat in front. No one had anything to say as Lesslie pulled away, heading south along the I-45 feeder.

  * * *

  “Well that didn’t take long.”

  Linton looked to where his wife pointed across the feeder road to the right. A large crowd milled about in the parking lot of a strip center. Several vehicles were tangled together in a big charred mess. The sound of the Ford attracted their attention, and they loped drunkenly toward the feeder to intercept the four in the sedan. Linton drew his pistol.

  Michelle pointed to the left, temporarily obstructing his aim. “There’s an entrance ramp,” she said.

  Linton looked, even as Lesslie swerved to get on the freeway. She slid past an abandoned vehicle that had rammed into the impact barrels at the entrance, and they quickly left the laughing crowd behind them. Lesslie slowed to a safer speed as they wove through the bodies and wreckage that littered the concrete ribbon before them. It was a tense and gruesome undertaking, but at least the retaining walls offered some small measure of protection from the various shopping centers and businesses along the feeder.

  Emmet called up the navigation app on his phone. “Just a few miles ahead, and we should get to the Sam Houston Parkway exit.”

  Progress was painfully slow. “I can’t believe how many accidents there are out here,” Lesslie commented.

  Emmet grunted, the sound transmitted through the voicemitter in his gas mask. “Based on what we saw last night, I don’t think I’d go so far as to call them accidents.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean every wreck we saw seemed to have one or both parties laughing while they slammed their car into something.”

  “Or someone,” Michelle finished.

  Lesslie glanced back at Michelle quickly, before turning her attention back to her driving. “So?”

  “So none of the wrecks we saw last night were accidents. They were all done on purpose.”

  Lesslie seemed to digest this tidbit of information. “So do you have any idea what’s caused all this?”

  Linton and Emmet looked at each other. Linton shrugged at his friend. If he wanted to tell, Linton would defer to him.

  “I don’t guess it’s going to be a secret anymore, is it?” Emmet asked Linton.

  “Nope.”

  “Well, hell.” Emmet was quiet a moment before launching into a quick explanation of what they thought had happened.

  “Kampala Syndrome?”

  “That’s what they called it,” Emmet affirmed.

  “And it makes everybody crazy?”

  “We don’t know exactly what it does,” Linton told her. “All we know is that it seems to affect peoples’ minds in a way that makes them act like the meanest damned drunks you ever saw.”

  “And the laughing?”

  “We don’t know. For some reason, everyone who’s infected seems to break out laughing. Then they go nuts.”

  “Yeah.” Lesslie sighed. “I saw a bit of that
last night. Had a couple of customers that attacked me at the restaurant.” She fell silent.

  “You had to kill them?” Emmet asked, sympathy in his voice.

  “No. A friend of mine killed them, Barry Begault. He saved me.”

  Emmet looked back at Linton, who simply shrugged.

  Chris finally asked, “So what happened to him?”

  Lesslie was silent.

  “Lesslie? Are you crying?” Emmet’s voice was full of concern.

  Linton could only see the back of her head from where he sat, but he heard her sniff.

  “Lesslie? What happened to Barry?”

  “He was hurt pretty bad when he fought them off. He must have been in a lot of pain. But Barry was always showing off. He made some lame-ass joke. And then he started laughing.” Lesslie fell silent again, maneuvering between another wreck and the center retaining wall. After a moment, she must have decided to tell the rest of her story, though. “I could see his eyes when he started to laugh. It was like something happened in his mind. Something that scared the shit out of him. And then it was like a switch flipped. He went from hurt and laughing, to terrified, and then to crazy.”

  She stopped the car and leaned forward, resting her head against the steering wheel. “Then he tried to kill me.” And her shoulders began to shake with her sobs.

  Linton felt for the poor woman, but he instinctively looked around for any signs of the infected, or crazies, or whatever they were calling them today. Michelle leaned across the seat and placed a sympathetic hand on Lesslie’s back. “What happened, Lesslie?”

  “He tried to kill me. I had… had the… butcher knife…” She sat up and sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. She seemed to realize that she had stopped in the middle of the freeway and she looked around, gathering her wits. On seeing that they were in no immediate danger, she turned back to look at Michelle. “He came at me, and he hit me. Threw me on the floor. He jumped on top of me, but I still had the knife.”

  She put the car back into drive and began their slow creep southward once more as she finished. “Knives in a barbeque restaurant are kept really sharp.”

  Linton recalled the knife she carried with her and swallowed. She had been through hell, and had held up remarkably well. Linton didn’t know if he would have done as well. Would he have the courage to kill a friend who was attacking him? He remembered that he and Michelle no longer wore their masks. He glanced up at Emmet, still safe behind his filters. It was more likely that Emmet would be the one faced with that dilemma before he himself was. He wondered if his friend would be up to the task if it came to that.

  Then he wondered whether or not he really wanted him to be.

  Chapter 63

  Erica Chapman

  A Girl’s Got Needs!

  Erica awoke with a start in her old bed. Sunlight streamed in through the window, letting her know she’d slept later than she’d intended. She still clutched her old Bois d’Arc lacrosse stick in her hands. She’d slept with it, drawing comfort from the dense wood, but by morning’s light, it seemed wholly inadequate as a weapon. She recalled that Uncle Jimmy kept a shotgun around the place somewhere and immediately went to go look for it. As she exited her bedroom though, she froze.

  Looking down the hall and through the kitchen window, she could see the cab of a bright yellow SUV. After a second’s panic, she recognized it as the Xterra that she and Matt had stolen from the dealership last night. And it looked like Matt was still in it. Drawing her robe tighter around herself, she gripped her stick tighter and went outside. “Matt?” She could see him in the front seat, still sitting behind the steering wheel, and as she approached the cab, she saw he was leaning forward, forehead resting on the wheel. “Matt, is that you?” She reached for the door and stopped as she saw him move. His shoulders were shaking up and down. Like he’s laughing. Oh God, not Matt too. She pulled her hand back slowly and gripped Old Yaller with both hands.

  Then he turned toward her, tears running down his face, and she realized then that he was alone. His wife and children weren’t with him, and that could only be bad news. She opened the door. “I’m so sorry, Matt.”

  He nodded and wiped snot and tears away with an already-soaked shirt sleeve. Taking a moment to try and get his emotions under control, he finally spoke. “I, uh… I didn’t have any place else to go,” he said dully. “I couldn’t stay there. Not with…” He stopped, apparently lost in his memories. “Look, after last night I understand—”

  Erica shook her head and put a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry about it.” She tugged his sleeve. “Come on inside and I’ll make us some breakfast. We’ll figure out what we’re gonna do next.”

  He let her lead him inside where she sat him at the breakfast table, and started pulling food out of the refrigerator. “You okay with eggs?”

  He nodded dully.

  “I like mine with tomatoes and jalapeños in them. Does that work for you?”

  Another nod.

  Erica gave up trying to start a conversation and left him to his thoughts while she diced the veggies and mixed some eggs. Thinking it might be better to keep him busy, she showed him where the toaster was, and put him to work on the bread, then made some coffee. She intentionally kept quiet, not pressing him for details of his trip home. She figured he would talk when he was ready. But he didn’t say a word until they sat at the table. Even then, it was nothing about his family. “So what’s your plan? You going to hole up here and hope it all blows over?”

  Erica shook her head. “I don’t think it’s going to blow over.”

  He just nodded, obviously waiting for her to continue.

  “After you left me here last night, I watched the news. It looks like it’s all over the country. I even saw a reporter get killed right on camera. Looked like it was his camera man that did it.” She shook her head. “It’s not blowing over. If anything, it’s getting worse.”

  He threw the last of his toast onto the plate. “Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, are you staying here?”

  “I don’t know. This isn’t really my home anymore. Legally, I’m supposed to get the last of my stuff out and be gone before five o’clock this evening.” She shrugged. “Of course, the way things are looking, I seriously doubt anyone is likely to be here to enforce that particular directive.” She looked around for a minute. “But this isn’t home anymore, either.”

  He took another sip of his coffee, deep in thought. “So where is home?”

  “I’ve been going to college in Montgomery, Alabama. I’ve sort of got someone there.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  It was Erica’s turn to take a sip while she thought it over. “I’m not really sure. We’ve been having some problems. I had to leave pretty quickly when Uncle Jimmy died, and I didn’t let him know what was going on. Guess I didn’t feel like having any sort of… confrontation.”

  “Sorry. You guys fight a lot?”

  “Nope. Not once. Ross never gets mad.”

  Matt raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a pretty understanding guy. I’d imagine you can work things out.”

  “Believe me, it’s not understanding that keeps us from fighting.”

  When she didn’t elucidate, he just nodded. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.”

  She shrugged. “No problem.” Picking up her plate, she walked around the table to grab his. “Finished?” She nodded to the piece of toast he’d thrown down.

  “Yeah, but I can get it.” He picked up his plate and followed her to the sink. “So you never really answered me. What are you planning to do?”

  “Things have changed. Obviously. And I think I need to get back to Ross.”

  “Do you even know if he’s all right? How do you know he hasn’t turned into one of those things from last night?”

  “That’s about the only thing I am sure of. Ross isn’t one of them. He’s got a condition called cataplexy. It’s pretty rare, and the kind he has is rarer than most. Wit
hout all the details, it means he simply can’t laugh. Anytime he starts to laugh, or cry, or experience any strong emotion, he has a kind of a seizure and his body just sort of collapses.”

  Matt looked at her as if she had grown a third eye. “You shitting me?”

  “No. That’s why we’re having trouble.”

  “What, because you can’t joke with him? That’s not such a big deal.”

  “No. It’s not just the joking. It’s any strong emotional response.”

  “I guess that could get a little boring.” But he obviously still thought she was overreacting.

  “Matt, think about it. Any strong emotion.”

  He appeared puzzled, and she could see she was going to have to spell it out for him. “It’s not just the laughing, and God knows it isn’t the fighting. It’s that the son of a bitch made me fall in love with him. He wrote all these letters, and they were so damned beautiful.” She swallowed at the memory of how warm those letters made her feel—before she understood.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t follow. Your relationship is on the rocks because you love him?”

  “Yes. Well, no. It’s complicated.”

  “I don’t see it like that. Either you love each other, or you don’t. Do you love him?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Does he love you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then no buts. You love each other, it’s simple. Everything else is minor.”

  “Not everything. Damn it, Matt. A girl’s got needs!”

  “What?”

  “Any strong emotional response, Matt! Get it? How would you feel if the simple act of making love caused your wife to have a seizure?” Erica realized her mistake immediately, and Matt’s face froze. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  He swallowed and looked away, though not before she saw the tears begin to form. “‘S okay.” Turning away, he refilled his coffee cup from the pot. After several seconds, he turned back to her, eyes clear, jaw set against further emotion. “So despite all that, you’re heading for Alabama?”

  “Yeah.” She hadn’t realized until then that she’d already made up her mind. “I guess, despite our problems, Ross is pretty much the safest person I know.”