Her lips puckered and Grace set down the phone. “It doesn’t mean … maybe she dropped her phone. Maybe someone else has it.”
“No.” Eugene grabbed the phone again. “I know what my gut is telling me. I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too,” He said, his words heavily laced with emotions, Eugene took to staring again at his phone.
Nine - Rising
It was the quiet that woke Grace, not the noise. She had grown used to the steady, buzz saw sound too deep and big to come from her child, her struggled breathing.
Now it was quiet.
Grace had fallen asleep sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch, her head close to Macy’s, waiting for her to stir so she could give her the next doze of sedative and fever reducer.
Somewhere around two in the morning, Grace gained an ounce of hope when it felt as if her fever was lessening. Macy was still warm, but nowhere near as hot.
Like white noise, Grace honed in on Macy’s breathing, holding her hand until she fell asleep.
The silence caused her to jolt and open her eyes. Everyone else was still asleep. It was eerily quiet. Grace shut her eyes and prayed that the silence meant Macy was well. Perhaps she’d healed during the night. Heart racing, inwardly trembling, Grace turned and looked at her daughter.
There were no movements of her body to indicate breathing. What remained of her coloring was drawn and pooled with gravity causing the side of her face to be black.
Macy’s skin was cold to the touch.
She was gone.
Even though she knew it was coming, a pain radiated through her and Grace’s lips quivered. She felt the cry building her chest, swell to her ears, and it seeped out. She clutched Macy and lifted her. The stiffness of her body told Grace her daughter had been gone a couple of hours. Macy was hard to cradle and hold. However, Grace held on, weeping in the silence of the morning. Even though she tried to be quiet, her cries stirred those in the room.
Candice jumped up and ran over. “Mommy?”
One arm holding Macy, Grace pulled Candice onto her legs.
Eugene slowly stood. “Grace? Grace, I am sorry.”
So was she. No one was sorrier than Grace. Not only was she at a sorrowful loss, she had no clue what to do next. She couldn’t hold Macy forever, even though she wanted to.
In the infancy of her loss, Grace placed the ‘what next’ thoughts aside and absorbed the final moments of holding her daughter.
<><><><>
Caramount Elementary School
Myron never claimed to be an artist and his rough sketch was designed to be more informative than decorative. It was raw at best. It was his plan, the escape and backup plan that Myron thought through all night.
Not that Paul wasn’t a good leader; Myron supposed he was. To Myron, a good leader didn’t need to have the answers, he only needed to project that he was confident he’d find them.
Myron had drawn a picture of the school. On the street parked by it was the fire truck, behind that a school bus. Myron explained his plan to Paul and Stanton.
“There’s the dip, or grade, whatever you want to call it,” Myron said, “on the side of the building near the main street. Cars parked on the lot keep that side safe. If we get overrun with infected, that lot will be like a lake, it dips down enough that they won’t get near the ladder.”
Paul said. “It doesn’t look like you want to pull the truck near the school.”
“Oh, I don’t. Annapolis Avenue runs north to south, perpendicular with the school property.” Myron pulled forth a map. “Greenmont is east and west. It comes out and faces Exit E of the gym. I want to bring Bessie down Greenmont, on to Annapolis and facing the school. The Ragers can’t reach the top of the truck.”
Stanton ran his finger over the drawing. “This is good. You have the school bus behind Bessie, ass end to ass end. Extend the ladder to the roof like a catwalk, we can climb down, cross over to Bessie to get to the bus.”
“Yes.” Myron nodded. “Ceiling to floor in the gym is twenty-four feet. With the distance and the ladder extended it won’t be a steep slope. The scaffolding is inside to get to the roof, should we be trapped in the gym and not able to make the staircase.”
“You expect people to climb twenty-four feet?”
“If they want to live, yes. Everything we need is at Mount Hallow, eight blocks away. Including the bus.”
Paul folded his arms. “This is a very viable plan.”
“I’m confident we need only me and two others to implement it.”
Stanton held up his hand. “I’m game. You may have to piss on me.”
“I can do that.”
“No,” Paul Argued, “this is not needed. Have you looked outside? Half of the infected have dropped dead. They’re just laying there. It’s my guess they’re expiring and in a day or two they’ll all be gone.”
“Do you want to take that chance?” Myron asked. “I sure don’t.”
“Neither do I,” Stanton said.
“It’s dangerous,” Paul remarked.
“Yeah, well,” Stanton tilted his head, “according to you it’s only half as dangerous as it was yesterday.”
“When are you going?” Paul asked.
“I wanted to go now,” Myron replied. “But since Stanton wants my urinary tract protection, give my urine an hour to ferment a bit and then we’ll head out.”
“You’re really going to douse yourself in his urine?” Paul asked.
“Whatever it takes.” Stanton shrugged. “And by the way,” he nudged Myron, “I love it. Urinary Tract Protection.”
“That was pretty good, huh?”
Paul groaned.
Myron was confident in his plan. Once he got Bessie, he was certain, not only he, but the others would not feel quite so cornered or trapped.
<><><><>
Once again, Grace attempted to read Max. She didn’t get him, nor did she think she ever would. Of course, she still wasn’t thinking clearly.
Max got up, looked at Grace, ran his hand over Candice’s head, muttered “Sorry,” and walked away, heading up the stairs.
It took an hour before Grace placed Macy back on the couch. She didn’t want to but she covered her with a blanket, because the sight of her wasn’t pleasant and she didn’t want that to be Candice’s last impression of her sister.
Losing Macy was tough, and walking away, leaving her behind, was going to be just as hard.
Grace had to get herself together, think clearer, for the sake of Candice. She was all she had left.
Max returned and Grace knew as soon as she saw him what he had done. His face was dirty, hands as well, and his blue jeans had mud all over them.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Max said.
“You are a piece of work,” Grace said. “Really, that was your first thought?”
“What are you talking about?” “Your first thought, you see my child and think okay, bury her?”
“Yeah. What are you going to do? Leave her on the couch?”
“Hey, now,” Eugene said. “Easy, both of you.”
Grace ignored Eugene. “What did you expect me to say?” she snapped at Max.
“How about ‘thank you for digging a grave for my daughter’?”
“She died.”
“And that means what?” Max said, throwing up his hands in frustration. “We’re to wait? For how long? Tell me Grace.”
“You can act like this because you don’t know.”
“No. No I don’t,” Max said passionately. “But I do know it isn’t fair to the child you have left. I actually know for a fucking fact how unfair it is for the child left behind. You lost your daughter, I’m sorry. I am. Right now, you have another one who is alive that needs your full focus. Give it to her.”
“How dare y—”
“Stop!” Candice screamed. “Please. Stop.” She stepped back from her mother and looked to Max.
“I’m sorry,” Max nodded at Ca
ndice. “I didn’t mean to yell.”
Eugene inched forward. “I know this sounds harsh, Grace, but Max is right. We need to give her a burial, you need that as well. Then we have to move on.”
Grace ran her hand down her face. “You’re right. I’m sorry, too. The shelter isn’t that far from here.”
“Mommy?” Candice peeped out, but no one paid any attention.
Max said, “I think that’s a bad idea.”
Eugene glanced at him. “What do you mean it’s a bad idea?”
“I mean, how many people are there? To me, the more people, the more dangerous it can be.”
“Mommy?” Candice said.
“What about safety in numbers?” Eugene asked.
Max shrugged. “Depends. Are there more immune? Then you have safety in numbers. But if not, you have a calling card.”
Candice tapped on Grace’s leg. “Mommy?”
“Just a minute, sweetie.” Grace faced Max. “What do you propose?”
“Head to the hills, to the country,” Max said. “Hell, another country. Maybe a place with no infected. Away from crowds.”
“Where? We have no information,” Grace said. “I understand your point and reasoning. However, we need to get to that shelter to at least find out what’s going on. It’s run by the government, they have to know.”
“And they may be able to tell us where a better place is,” Eugene said hopefully.
Candice screamed.
Everyone turned at the same time to look. Grace gasped when Macy sat up.
A twinge of excitement hit her. Thinking maybe, just maybe she wasn’t dead, Grace knew better when the blanket slid from Macy and Grace saw her eyes.
Nothing but a single dot for the pupil remained. The rest of her eyes were a grayish white. Grace reached back to grab for Candice and only swiped air. She turned her head for a second to look for her, saw she had backed up, and when she looked again at Macy, the small child had assumed a froglike position on the couch, preparing to leap.
“What do we do?” Eugene asked.
Upon hearing his voice, with an ear piercing squeal, Macy leapt from the couch, her aim on Candice.
Max quickly intercepted the four year old mid-jump, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Go!” he said. “Grab the stuff and go!”
Macy kicked and screamed, her hands slapping down, scratching into his arms furiously.
“Go!”
Grace grabbed Candice and lifted her up, watching Max the entire time.
“Let’s go!” Eugene grabbed her arm, pulling her along.
Max’s arms were bleeding badly as he fought to restrain the maddened child.
“Go!” Max yelled.
Eugene grabbed what he could of their things while ushering Grace to the basement door that led to the garage.
Once in the garage, Eugene opened the back door, tossed in their few bags of supplies, then got up front. Grace got in the back with Candice.
“Close the door, Grace, close it!” Eugene started the car.
“Don’t leave him!” Candice shouted. “Don’t leave Max.”
“I’m not. I’m getting ready to go.”
In the backseat, arm wrapped tightly around Candice, Grace watched the basement door. It seemed like an eternity, but Max eventually emerged, his arms bloody and looking like he was attacked by a dog. Within a second of him closing the door, it rattled on its hinges.
Max ran behind the car to the tool bench. searching for flashlights and other items, he saw the medium sized hammer that was on the workbench and he grabbed it. He swiped up the jar of nails, the single baseboard panel that lay next to the bench, and the can of spray paint.
Thankfully, the door opened into the garage and that worked in his favor.
It rattled insanely, banging and shaking. Macy was a small child. He could only imagine what a full grown adult could do.
Hurriedly, Max placed the baseboard plank over the door and quickly pounded two nails in each side. After putting the hammer in his back pocket, he lifted the spray can. He had every intention of writing ‘stay out’, but figured who would see it? The board alone was enough to indicate something dangerous was in there.
Instead of a warning, he sprayed Macy’s name on the door, with the letters RIP, set down the can, and opened the passenger door. He wanted for Grace’s sake to give her daughter a final resting place. The basement of a home wasn’t what he had in mind, but it had to do.
“Get ready to go,” Max said, then walked to the garage door, pressing the button. He hurried back to the car, jumping in as the door lifted, exposing the owner of the house standing in the driveway. He spun around when the door lifted all the way, the butcher knife still plunged under his chin.
“Gun it” Max instructed.
Eugene slammed down the gas pedal, sending the car forward in a shot. Butcher knife man jumped on the hood of the car, but as soon as Eugene turned right out of the driveway at a high rate of speed, the man fell off and on to the road.
Through the side view mirror, Max watched as he stood and raced after them. He turned around to Grace. “Everyone okay?”
“Yes,” Grace said, gripping Candice. “Yes.”
“What now?” Eugene asked.
Max took a second to catch his breath. “I don’t know. Just drive.”
Ten – Squish
A man named Beret joined Myron and Stanton on their jaunt to get Bessie and a school bus. The bus was the easy part, it wasn’t far from Caramount School, parked a few blocks away at the district bus lot.
Beret was immune, one of the few at the shelter who were. A smaller man with a thick gut and hair that needed a trim, he volunteered when they asked because of his skills. He was a truck driver and would be the best one to drive Bessie. He was a man of few words and kept making comments about how Stanton had a hint of a pee odor, which was pretty much all he said.
When they found the bus, since it was located in a relatively safe and infected free zone, Myron suggested that Stanton take the bus while he and Beret went for Bessie.
“I’m not wearing your urinary tract protection for nothing, you know,” commented Stanton.
They all rode the bus and parked it off of Greenmont Street, where it would be easy to retrieve later. They then made their way off Washington Road to the public safety building where Bessie was stored.
It was the main road; they expected blocked traffic, infected, however, the Ragers who were standing didn’t look twice at the three of them.
Storefronts in the upscale section of the neighborhood had been smashed. Some cars were left on the road, doors open, some containing bodies that were desecrated by hands and mouths.
Myron had a service pistol given to him by Stanton. Beret wasn’t a gun guy, and opted for a baseball bat. Stanton carried his M-4, nestled for safety’s sake in between Myron and Beret as they walked.
It was a warm day for March, yet Myron had placed a scarf over his nose. It didn’t help with the sour and pungent smell. There was a strange chirping, almost clicking sound in the air.
Carefully and quietly they stepped between each body that was on the ground.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Beret said, “but this smell mixed with Stanton’s is making me sick.”
There was a grunt and Myron looked back. Beret had walked into Stanton.
“What’s wrong?” Myron asked.
“This. There are way too many bodies,” Stanton peered left to right.
“They all dropped,” Myron replied.
“Yeah, they did. But we walked here. Did we see a massing like this anywhere else? Only when they are people around they want.”
Myron immediately looked to the buildings. There had to be apartments on top of most of the buildings. They’d passed a huge apartment building a block before and Stanton was right. There wasn’t any huge massing here.
“You think there are survivors somewhere?” Myron asked.
“Or were. Keep an ear out and I think maybe
we should look.”
“What about once we’re on the truck, we honk the horn?” Myron suggested.
Both garage doors to the station were wide open and in front of the doors were even more bodies of infected.
Stanton said, “They were here. The survivors. Too many infected here. What is that clicking noise?”
Myron didn’t know. He directed Beret to Bessie. She wasn’t hard to miss; she was huge and shiny, bigger than the other truck. “Why don’t you go get her started.”
“And what? Pull out? How?” Beret asked then gestured to the bodies. “We can’t roll over them. Well, we can, but we take a chance of a body getting stuck in the wheel well.”
“Get the truck ready,” said Stanton. “We’ll move bodies. Myron, start on the left, I’ll take the right.”
“And do what?” Myron asked.
“Move them aside. Make a path.”
There was more than a mechanical reason that Stanton felt it important to move the bodies. It was a matter of respect. Something wasn’t right though, and instinctively Stanton felt it. They needed to clear a path. Myron did his best, and Stanton listened to the play by play description of Beret of getting the truck.
“Keys aren’t here.”
“Checking the office.”
“Nope. Wait. Hey. I found them.”
Great, Stanton thought. Now get it started. And what the hell is that noise?
He grabbed bodies by whatever means he could, arms, legs, and dragged them. They leaked bodily fluids. He placed a body near the mound of others and walked to grab another.
Not many more. Maybe ten.
“You hear that, Myron?” Stanton asked as he reached for a body.
“What?”
“That clicking sound?”
Myron lifted his head. “Sounds more like a clack.”
“Whatever it sounds like, what is it?” He grabbed the arms of a woman and pulled her toward the pile.
“Maybe something electronic? A clock?”
“Who knows? Something isn’t right. Has a weird feel about it, you know?”
Immune Page 10
