Immune

by Jacqueline Druga

  As soon as Grace pulled up the driveway, she knew it was useless. The garage doors for the fire department and ambulance were open and infected roamed the area.

  She couldn’t understand why they gathered there or how they ended up mobbing the police station trying to get in. Was there someone like Candice inside?

  More than anything, Grace wanted to check, to help, but she couldn’t. She had her child.

  As soon as she turned the car around, the infected spotted Candice and again it was a goose chase. Grace’s eyes shifted to the rearview mirror to see them still in pursuit.

  Her next stop on the list was a hospital. It was a plague or infection, surely people would go there to try to get medical attention. Most of the hospitals were in the city, and Grace could see the smoke coming from that way. The city wasn’t safe. There was one on the edge of the county, a short highway drive.

  Getting to the highway was a maze, and to make matters worse, her gas tank was low. Before the exit, Grace stopped at a gas station. No one was there, and the front doors were busted out. She hoped the pumps worked. All she needed was a little gas. She wasn’t going to steal it, she’d use her debit card.

  “Mommy,” Candice whispered. “Do we have to stop?”

  “Stay here. I’ll be right outside pumping.”

  Grace stepped from the car, lifted the pump, clicked the trigger, pressed the buttons. Nothing happened.

  Then it dawned on her.

  No power.

  No pumps.

  No gas.

  At that, she had a mini break down. How was she going to do it? She felt defeated, slamming the nozzle several times in a tearful frustration before letting it fall to the ground.

  She’d hoped the car made it to the next station. It was highway driving, as long as Grace didn’t drive with a lead foot, she could conserve gas. She had a quarter of a tank. The radio said not all places were without power. Although, most of what she heard was from the automated emergency broadcast. The only other radio playing was a DJ named Cee, who had locked herself on the third floor of the station, proclaiming she was safe and wasn’t going anywhere. They still had power there.

  She was taking phone calls, most from panicked people with no real information needing someone to talk to. Grace wished her phone worked, she would have called.

  By the time they hit the highway, Candice had fallen asleep again, and Grace listened to her breathing, just in case.

  Grace kept checking her rearview mirror and that was when she saw it coming. It was a dot at first and before Grace knew it, the plane roared so low and close overhead it rumbled the car and pulled it along.

  Candice sat up with a start, “Mommy?”

  “It’s okay. It was a plane, probably crashing.” Grace kept looking ahead, waiting for the impact. The plane was too close.

  When a crash didn’t occur, Grace deduced that it was probably farther and higher than it seemed.

  The highway, for the most part, was free and clear. Cars and trucks were scattered about randomly, the doors opened as if people had ran from them. Grace was diligent in staying slow and moving carefully around them.

  She knew the town of Canonsburg wasn’t that far, and gratefully, her gas gauge barely moved. The last sign she saw was four miles. The hospital there, along with gas, were her goals. Maybe even real food.

  She came over the ridge onto the straight portion of the highway and that was when she spotted the plane a mile from her, parked on the highway.

  Grace slowed down. Could she go around it?

  While registering its presence and figuring out what to do, she saw two men running from the plane. They moved fast and Grace panicked.

  More infected, but it was only two. She thought she could drive around them until she saw the mob a good twenty yards behind the men and more coming from the plane. They leapt from the side door, landed, and injured or not, they got up and hobbled in a run.

  Then she realized the two men were probably not infected, they were being chased. The Good Samaritan in her headed their way. She saw them better as she closed in on them. One was in a white shirt and dress pants, the other looked bloody and messy.

  No. They were infected and upon that thought, Grace slowed down and turned the wheel. She’d find another exit.

  Had she not taken one more look at the men, she wouldn’t have seen the man in the white shirt waving his arms frantically at her.

  Infected didn’t do that.

  She stopped and clicked ‘unlock’

  They ran faster to her, looking behind them. Grace grabbed her chest and almost drove off. The horde of raging infected were closing in.

  Candice immediately locked her door.

  “Baby, leave it open,” Grace said. “They need help.

  “But what about—?”

  “Let them in.”

  With a click, Grace unlocked the door again and Candice pulled the handle, opening her door.

  Immediately, the man in the white shirt pulled it open wider, jumped in, squishing against Candice. “Thank you!”

  The other man jumped in the back behind Grace. “Drive!”

  Grace hit the gas, peering in the mirror. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” the man in the back answered. “I just….” He grunted loud and scream-like, “Uh!”

  “What? What?” the white shirt guy asked. “What?”

  “She has an infected kid in a car seat.”

  “She’s a calm infected,” the white shirt guy said.

  Candice shared a seat with the man, he had his arm over the top to give them both room. She peered up to him. “That’s because Mommy gave her Benadryl.”

  “That was smart,” he said. “Thanks again. We owe you guys. I’m Eugene and that’s Max.”

  “Grace,” she said. “You’re sitting with Candice and Macy is in the back.”

  “She’s out cold,” Eugene said.

  “Yeah, I doubled the dose. The noise isn’t as bad when she’s sleeping. So I figured she’s not struggling with whatever breathing problem she had. At least not as much.”

  “Can I ask …” Max leaned forward. “How you gave her Benadryl without her biting off your hand?”

  “She doesn’t attack me. Only Candice.”

  “Are you bit?” Eugene asked.

  “No.” Grace shook her head. “Why do you ask?”

  “They come after me, but not him.” Eugene pointed to Max. “He was bit several times.”

  “By accident. I happened to be in the way of their mouth,” Max said. “They didn’t come after me.”

  “They don’t come after me and I wasn’t bit,” Grace said. “There has to be something else.”

  “Whatever the reason, it’s a sense of safety. Where were you headed?” Eugene asked.

  “To a hospital. Trying to find help for my daughter.”

  From the back seat, Max huffed.

  “What?” Grace looked at him in the mirror, she then glanced at a sleeping Macy. “You don’t know. There may be help out there for them. I can’t give up on my daughter. I can’t.”

  “I take it you drugged her because she was violent?” Max asked.

  “I did. But she wasn’t violent to me. I held her. She’s still in there.” Grace shifted her eyes to Eugene. “My daughter is still in there. I have to try to help her.”

  Eugene reached over and laid his hand on hers. “I understand. I do. I have a daughter. She’s in Denver and I’ve been trying to reach her, then my phone died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.” Eugene said. “Kind of a shitty thing to happen. To be away from your family, not knowing. She posted on social media that her mother was sick. That was her last post.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not a good source of information,” stated Grace. “We didn’t have power and the radio is useless. By the time we got to the car, the news was done.”

  Eugene exhaled. “It has to be widespread. I couldn’t reach a tower anywhere.”

  “Whe
re were you headed? I mean, after you landed.”

  Eugene shrugged. “Off the plane. There was no plan. There is now. We go with you. Let’s go try to find your daughter some help.”

  Grace nodded. She was scared and hadn’t the first clue what to do. Undoubtedly she would have figured it out eventually, but she was glad she and her daughters weren’t alone.

  It was an instantly crazy world with infected attacking left and right. Even though she didn’t know the two strangers at all, they were an added sense of safety Grace needed to feel in order to keep going.

  Six – End Unit

  Caramount, PA

  The world wasn’t dead. Not yet. Granted, there were a lot of infected, but from what Myron saw, there were still some people alive. They hid, peeking out the windows, afraid to come out or just unable to with the risk outside.

  Had Myron been one of those ‘prepared’ people, he would have waited it out with his grandmother. But there wasn’t much food and it wasn’t safe for her in their home.

  He was glad they made it to the shelter. It wasn’t what he expected. In his mind, he believed he’d step into a well maintained military shelter created in the school. Hundreds upon hundreds of survivors, cots spread out evenly, he’d be given a blanket and care package and told to have a seat, relax, this would be over soon.

  That wasn’t the case. There were a few dozen scared and confused people sitting on the floor. What he and his grandmother stepped into was a salvation in its infancy. Someone with good intentions and a good idea was in over his head. That person was Paul. He was a good guy, Myron could tell, and he needed help.

  After making sure his grandmother was fine and able to get clean, Myron volunteered to go out with Paul. They were one of four that had the gift of immunity. The other two stayed behind while Myron went out with Paul for supplies.

  They needed batteries, food, and some basic medical supplies. Things Myron figured would be there for the taking.

  As they prepared to leave, Myron told Paul about his fantasy vision of shelter life.

  Paul found some amusement in that, producing a smile. “Yeah, in theory, that’s how it should have been,” he explained as they made their way from the school. “Maybe yesterday, if it was implemented before the city went to shit. Looters burned a lot of it down. There was supposed to be a garage where the trucks were stored. Management was supposed to call up the units to the locations, they get the truck and everything was to be set up. Unfortunately, I kind of thought since the location was the school, we’d have more supplies.”

  “You have the cafeteria,” Myron said, “My gram offered to go through that and I’m sure she will.”

  “It’s not gonna be enough if we have to wait it out.”

  “What do you mean?” Myron asked.

  “I mean, more of these Ragers will show up. Eventually, we won’t be able to get out. You and I will, but those not immune won’t. The Ragers are live beings. They aren’t eating food, they’re eating flesh. Eventually they will die.”

  “Yeah, what about the ones already dead?”

  “I am not convinced they are dead. Just dead… ish.”

  “Maybe we need someone with medical training to check one out.”

  Paul laughed. “Believe it or not, I was a nurse.”

  “No kidding? How did you end up working in this field?”

  “Nurses go through phases. It’s a job that beats you down. Some look for the next step, others change careers. I stayed in healthcare, though I stopped caring for patients.”

  “Bet you sucked at it,” Myron said. “You don’t seem like the type.”

  “I was good. I just hated the bureaucracy of it all.”

  “Dude! And you thought taking a county job was gonna be better?”

  “It had great retirement benefits.”

  “Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  “Nope.”

  They had to find a car, that was the first task. Caramount had an urban feel to it, yet it was a suburb. Very few yards, lots of concrete and cars parked at the curbs. Trying to determine which car went with what house was the hard part. The houses were so close together.

  The goal was the strip mall at the bottom of the large hill. It had a grocery store, electronics store, and pharmacy. One stop shopping. Getting down that hill was not a problem, though coming back up with supplies would be. There was hope in finding something in the parking lot.

  Caramount had a population of over thirty thousand, all crammed in sardine lots, apartments, and row houses. It seemed as if half those people were wandering the street now.

  Of course, there were also a lot of bodies. Ones too far damaged to become dead-ish. Myron tried to ignore those. Being the video game guy, he put it in his mind that it was a game. It was the only way he could make it through without getting sick or upset.

  A the top of the long hill that would take them to the shopping center, Myron noticed a lone car parked on the corner close to the side gate of the end unit in a row of houses.

  No one would park next to a gate that wasn’t theirs. He pointed it out and told Paul, it was a good bet so they went to the house.

  Myron reached for the back gate but stopped. Leaning against it was the body of a dog lying on its side. A yellow lab, its neck looked swollen, eyes bulging, and tongue lolling.

  Unable to bring himself to push on the gate, Myron walked to the front door of the end unit.

  Paul stopped Myron from opening the door. “Someone might be inside and scared. They could have a gun. Knock first.”

  Myron reached to knock and noticed the door bell. He pressed it, and heard the sound of the chime. After a few seconds he pressed it again.

  There was no response.

  He opened the screen door and knocked.”Hello!” he called out. “Hello! Anyone home? We aren’t gonna hurt you.” He knocked again.

  A women appeared in the small window of the front door. She startled Paul and Myron. It was obvious by her complexion and eyes she was infected.

  She looked out the window as if right through them and turned away.

  “Oh, that’s creepy,” said Paul. “We get in, we get out.”

  Myron turned the knob. Upon opening the door they were blasted with an odor, a sour and rotten smell like moldy food in a fridge.

  Myron grimaced and covered his mouth.

  “Look for a purse or key ring,” Paul said.

  The woman walked around the living room of the home. She was wearing a nightgown soiled with urine stains and neck had blackened marks on it and, like the dog’s, was swollen. “Paul, look at her neck,” Myron said.

  Paul walked up to her and reached for her throat.

  “Oh, God, don’t touch her.”

  “I need to feel it.” His trembling hand touched her neck.

  The woman didn’t react.

  “Every gland in her neck is swollen. Every single one. It’s like pustules in there.”

  “Is that why they breathe like that?” Myron asked.

  “Could be. Her nose doesn’t sound stuffed.” Index finger extended, Paul reached for her mouth.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You said a medical professional needed to look.”

  “But now? Right now?”

  “We have the opportunity.” He placed his finger on her chin and lowered it. Immediately, Paul turned his head and breathed outward.

  “That bad?”

  “Her tongue is huge. I’m surprise she can breathe, and covered with these sores...” He closed her mouth. “Yeah, that bad.”

  “Maybe she has a different case.”

  “Or this is a progression. We need those keys. Check in here, I’ll try the kitchen.” Paul walked by Myron and straight through to the next room.

  Myron started to think, If he lived in the house, where would he put the keys when he walked in? “Where are the keys to your car?” he asked her.

  She stopped walking.

  “You hear me?”

  S
he turned her head his direction.

  “You do hear me.”

  She lifted her head, looking around, chin up, and it cut off her breathing, like a heavy snorer choking mid-snore. She glanced at Myron.

  “God, I hope this isn’t one of these moments where I am suddenly your lunch.” Myron took a deep breath. “Keys. Yes. Keys.”

  The thought hit him that they should have checked the car first, but he passed that thought when he realized, as nice as Caramount seemed to be, it still wasn’t the type of place where a person left keys it the car. Plus, she was wearing pajamas; she had been home all night.

  A table was right by the front door and the most obvious place to drop keys. It was empty and when Myron turned, he saw. He had failed to notice when he walked in because he was so focused on the woman. He wished with all his heart he didn’t see it.

  There was a sofa flush against the same wall as the front door, under the picture window and on the couch, a child lay on each end, neither older than a toddler.

  Both were on their sides, covered with a blanket, heads on a pillow. Immediately, Myron hoped they were only sleeping, alive, immune and sleeping, but after taking a closer look he knew better.

  Their coloring was gray, their necks blackened and enlarged. Both were laying the exact same way on opposite ends, their tiny hands peeking out from the covers. There was no blood, they hadn’t been attacked. The children had been ill and died in their sleep.

  Myron’s knees buckled. It was a vision that hit him hard. Instantly, he felt this overwhelming sadness and a whimper seeped from his throat before he choked up. He spun to the woman. She was in the room with them. More than likely she wasn’t consciously aware, but instinctively she knew, that was why she stayed. Or at least Myron rationalized that. Instead of fearing her, being disgusted by her, be felt sorry and pity for the woman.

  “I’m sorry. These were your babies. I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t understand what he said, but Myron felt the need to say it.

  “Found them,” Paul said, jingling the keys excitedly as he walked into the room. “Right on the kitchen… oh, man.” His eyes shifted to the couch. “That’s so sad.”