Immune

by Jacqueline Druga

  “I understand.”

  “If you go, we go.”

  Eugene led the way to the roof ladder that would lead them to the staircase. At the bottom, Myron started mixing his Grandmother’s words with his encounter with Paul, and it worried him.

  He saw the main office door was open and the principal’s office door slightly ajar. “Go on ahead,” Myron said. “I’m gonna go talk to Paul.”

  “Yeah, guy is really on edge.”

  “I know. Be right there.” Myron stepped into the main office. Oddly it was empty, usually one soldier stayed in there. “Paul?” he called out.

  No answer.

  He knocked on the principal’s door, Paul’s hideaway and radio room. “Paul?” When he received no answer, he pushed the door enough to peek his head in. Paul wasn’t in there. He inched back and he heard it. A nearly inaudible static, and then Tara’s voice.

  “Paul, come in. Paul. Answer me. I’m worried about you guys. Answer. Over.”

  It was no wonder she sounded frantic, she probably was calling out and with the volume so low, Paul didn’t hear. Just to ease her mind, even though it was Paul’s thing, Myron stepped into the office.

  “Hey, this is Myron. Over.”

  “Thank God. I was worried. I’ve been calling out for hours. I thought something happened.”

  “No. We’re fine. Maybe he lost connection and he has the volume so low, he didn’t hear you. Want me to get him?”

  “That won’t be necessary. I wanted to make sure you guys were intact. Please tell him to get back to me. We are planning our route. I know he was down about it. Since it’s been a few hours, he may want to hear what route we came up with.”

  “Route?” Myron asked.

  “To the safe zone.”

  The safe zone? A few minutes earlier Paul was saying there was no place to go and mentioned nothing about a safe zone. Myron hoped it was an oversight, that Paul just had too much stress and too much on his mind. Myron decided before he brought it up to Paul, he’d wait to see if he mentioned it. In case he didn’t, Myron got all the information he could from Tara.

  THIRTEEN – Pigsty

  The room was large with an echo effect. There weren’t enough people to muffle the acoustics. As nightfall set in, every little noise seemed amplified. A turn of a page, a cough.

  The forty or so shelter residents made the best of the space, creating little personal camp areas, their belongings perched next to their sleeping bag or blanket. The full moon cast a good bit of light into the gymnasium that, along with the small lanterns used by those not sleeping, kept the area from being a sea of blackness.

  A few people were still awake, Grace was one of them. She’d opted not to sleep on the floor. Instead, she and Candice were using the bleachers. Eugene slept on the floor not far from them. Others were awake, reading or doing puzzles.

  It had to be near two a.m. Grace wasn’t tired. Her mind was in nonstop mode and she was thinking of Macy, drowning in guilt. Macy was ill but Grace had just left her. Left her four year old child in the basement of a stranger’s home. No matter what Macy had become, she was still Grace’s child. And her husband, the guilt over that pummeled her as well.

  Grace wanted to cry but held it back. It wasn’t the time. Maybe when things settled, when her mind wasn’t ridden with guilt, she’d let the tears come.

  The squeak of the opening gym door caused her to look across. Max walked in, he was looking around, using his flashlight until he spotted Grace. He waved and walked her way.

  Max was an anomaly. She couldn’t figure him out. Candice had, or at least Grace thought she did. The child had an unusually fast attachment to Max. Grace attributed it to Candice’s love of superheroes and the fact that Max had come to her rescue.

  “Hey,” Max said quietly. “You’re still awake.”

  “Not in the mood to sleep.”

  “Can I join you?”

  “Sure.”

  Max chuckled as he stepped over Eugene and paused in his climb on the bleachers. He peered over to where Candice slept in the inside fold of the bleachers. The blanket was like a hammock, keeping her protected.

  “Why is Candice sleeping there?” he asked, then sat down.

  “My way of keeping her hidden and safe. Crazy huh?”

  “Nope. Not at all.”

  “I’m surprised you came in here. I thought you were sleeping out there.”

  “No, I was hanging with Myron. He said he’d feel better if he stayed awake. That was after I walked the halls of the school. Man is it depressi—” “Stop.” Grace held up her hand. “Please, that’s far too sad to hear.”

  “I understand.” He handed her a small Dixie cup. “Drink?”

  “I think I will. Where did you get this?”

  “Nurse’s office.” Max filled the cup with bourbon.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Not the nurse’s office.” He placed the bottle down next to his flashlight. “I got it when I was out getting supplies.”

  “You are a mystery, Max.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, typically after spending time with people nonstop, you find out about them. I know a lot about Eugene already. You, not so much.”

  “I don’t talk much. It’s not my thing. What do you want to know?”

  “I didn’t say I wanted to know anything.” Grace sipped her drink and cringed.

  “Good because there’s not much to tell. Like Myron, I grew up with my grandmother. In fact I was on my way to see my mother after almost thirty fucking years. Then this happened.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “Yeah.” Max cleared his throat. “Wasn’t meant to be. But that’s my life. I worked jobs, failed at school, and went to the service. I did good there.” He brought his drink to his mouth.

  “When were you in jail?”

  Max hesitated and looked at Grace, she pointed to Candice. “Ah.” He downed his drink and poured another. “A little after I got out. Called it post traumatic stress disorder.”

  “What did you do?”

  Max stared ahead, answering in a calm, matter of fact way. “I killed someone. An accident, a fight. I still killed him though.” He sipped. “I still feel it every day.” His lips pursed and face tightened.

  “I killed someone too.”

  Max glanced at Grace in surprise.

  “My husband. Couple nights ago when it all started. He was going after Candice. I hit him with a bowling trophy. He didn’t die. Passed out, but didn’t die. When he got back up...” She finished her drink and held out her cup to Max. He refilled it. “I went nuts. I killed my husband and father of my girls.”

  “He was sick?”

  Grace nodded.

  “That doesn’t count.”

  “What?”

  “Would you want to live like that? Wouldn’t you want him to put you down if you were attacking the kids? We’re meant to kill the infected. I think that’s why we were spared.”

  “It’s not easy. You read books, watch TV shows, movies, and they make it look like killing someone you love is easy as long as they turned, as if there is an instant detachment. Well it’s not. Sick, risen, doesn’t matter, they are the person you love. It’s not easy. It’ll never be easy.”

  “I hope it isn’t ever easy. The guilt and sadness is what makes us human. We can’t lose that.” Max paused and sipped. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing. I’m sad. Scared. I’m trying to keep it together for her.” Grace glanced at Candice.

  “That’s good. And… and I’m sorry I got on you.”

  “No, you were right,” Grace said. “You mentioned you knew what it was like to be the child forgotten about. What did you mean?”

  “You listened,” Max replied. “When I was eight, my brother drowned in the lake where we were fishing with our dad. He was four.”

  Grace gasped. “I am so sorry.”

  “I remember the whole thing. I was there. It took
five days to find his body. That whole time, you know, my mom only thought about Joey, cried. My father too. I was a nonentity. No one asked me how I was. I didn’t exist, I was eight. Then they found him. My mother blamed my father, and he was so guilt ridden, he shot himself. My mother… she couldn’t take the pain or guilt and she left. Ran away. I guess I wasn’t enough to keep her around. My father either. Story of my life. I’ve never been enough to keep anyone around. And like, wow, totally pity party for me.” He finished his drink.

  “Max, I am really sorry. That’s horrible.”

  “Hopefully, now you can tell an uplifting bio,” Max said. “You seem like the—” He stopped short, cocked his head.

  “What? What is it?’

  “Listen.”

  “I don’t—” Grace instantly froze. “Snoring.”

  “Yeah.” Max stood.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m checking.”

  “Max, we’re in here. It’s just someone snoring. People snore.”

  He grabbed the flashlight. “Are you wanting to take that chance?”

  “No, but I’m sure it’s fine.”

  After Max stepped down and checked Eugene, he moved onward. Grace, arms folded tightly to her body, inched even closer to Candice.

  The obstructed breathing, gurgling snore was the only sound in the hollow gym. It echoed, steady, unwavering. A part of Max felt foolish for checking, but he had to. He walked, flashlight extended. It was hard to pinpoint where it was coming from. There weren’t a ton of people, but enough that he had to watch where he was walking. He went to his right, toward the cafeteria set up. The snoring was softer. He aimed his flashlight at where Paul was sleeping on the desk. It wasn’t him. It was coming from the other side.

  He was careful, shining the light everywhere and on everyone. As he drew closer to the far side, to the larger gathering of sleeping people, the snoring stopped.

  Max had been holding his breath and he exhaled in relief. Just his overactive imagination. That’s what he thought until Grace called his name fearfully.

  Flashlight on, Max slowly turned around. Amongst all the slumbering people, one woman sat up and the beam of his flashlight hit her face. Her skin was white, eyes gray and she had that look. That maddened look.

  Game over.

  She went from one stage to another in minutes. With a pig-like squeal she edged to her knees, pivoted to her right, and lunged on the person next to her.

  Max raced over.

  The screams of the male victim, mixed with a slurping sound, woke those in the gym and raised them into an immediate panicked state.

  The screams caused the newly infected woman to quickly claim her next victim. She moved fast. The others all jumped up and ran. Max pushed his way to the woman. He couldn’t shoot her, not with everyone racing about. Using his flashlight as a weapon, he smashed into her head where she hovered over her second victim.

  “Don’t go out the front door!” someone shouted.

  The first hit did nothing.

  “Race for the bleachers. They don’t climb!” another cried.

  He struck down, pummeling her until the flashlight broke and all went dark.

  “Calm down. Everyone!” Myron. That was Myron’s voice.

  A calmer silence hit and then the woman dropped to her left, and another scream of agony pierced the gym, mixed with the squealing.

  Even in the dark, Max saw her first victim rise up and attack someone else.

  It was a chain reaction, happening so fast. Those bitten turned quickly and raged toward another victim.

  “Get to the bleachers!” Myron cried out.

  Frightened people woken abruptly from a deep sleep raced toward the bleachers in a wave. Soon, all that was left on the gym floor were the five newly infected and the victims they devoured.

  Max pulled his gun. With the gym floor clear, he could take his shots. Five infected. Five victims. Ten shots. The exact number the clip held. He didn’t want to take a chance on missing, so he walked up to the first one.

  He fired, one shot into the infected attacker, the other into the attacker’s victim. When he did, those on the bleachers screamed in protest. Knowing he didn’t have much time before the victims turned, Max moved from infected to infected, until finally, he arrived at the last one.

  The infected woman snarled at him, blood dripping from her chin and flesh dangling from her mouth.

  Max was so focused he didn’t notice anything else around. He fired on the fifth and final one. When she fell over, Max aimed for the victim.

  “No!” Myron cried out, reaching for the gun. “No. I’ll ...I’ll do it. I’ll do it. Give me …” Myron burst into a gut wrenching sob and dropped to his knees, sliding into a pool of blood.

  Max handed him the weapon and turned away. Myron needed his moment.

  The last victim on the gym floor was his grandmother Leona.

  <><><><>

  Everything fell apart in the course of a few hours.

  The bodies had been cleared from the gym and moved to the farthest end of the school. Taking them out was not a possibility, the infected had broken the barrier and relentlessly pounded at the windows. Thankfully, the glass was thick and not easily broken.

  Even an immune person couldn’t take the chance. An open door would let the infected in.

  Paul woke up to screams and before he could do anything, that guy Max was playing dirty Harry, shooting the infected and their victims without a second thought. It angered Paul, gnawed at his gut. Especially since he had taken a stance in front of everyone like some sort of godlike hero. Their new leader to take them out of danger. A big shot, ignoring the fact that Myron still knelt in his grandmother’s blood. Her body had been removed, yet Myron didn’t budge.

  “I know it’s pretty bad in here,” Max said, addressing the people on the bleachers. “But this gym is our best option. We’re going to figure something out. A place to go. First …is anyone bit? Anyone? Tell us. Scratched or bitten?”

  “If we were we would have turned, right?” came a response from the bleachers.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Max said.

  “Hey, Moses!” Paul shouted. “Why are you misleading them?”

  Max looked at him. “I’m sorry?”

  “We don’t know about this virus. It changes. I have seen bitten take a day to turn. I have seen it take a minute. Leona laid there for a good five minutes while you played shoot ‘em up cowboy. She never turned. We don’t know.”

  “Okay,” Max said calmly. “Is anyone bitten? Scratched?” he asked again.

  “I want you out,” Paul said, approaching Max. “Leave. You’re immune, go to the roof, climb down and go.”

  Max nearly laughed at that. “What?”

  “Are you serious?” Grace called out. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “It’ll be light in a couple hours,” Paul replied. “He can go.”

  “We’re already leaving in a couple of hours,” Grace argued. “He doesn’t need to leave. If it wasn’t for him—”

  “None of this would have happened!” Paul shouted. “I told them not to go out. But they did. They brought you in here. We were fine. Infection free, until you showed up. One of you brought the infection in here. On your shoes, clothes, somewhere, you brought it in. It’s your fault, his, yours. His…” he pointed to Eugene, “Myron and Beret. Even your kid.”

  Wham.

  Paul never saw it coming. He felt the hard hit to his face, stumbled back, and didn’t even realize what happened or who hit him, until he looked up from the floor and saw Max reaching for him.

  “Max!” Grace screamed. “Let him go.”

  Max backed up and Paul clumsily stood. He held the side of his face and shook his head. “So none of you have my back? Aren’t going to insist he leave? Just let him shoot people? Why does he even have a gun in here? Fine. Follow him. All of you. You were safe. I considered you safe. Now I consider you statistics.”

 
Ego bruised as well as his face, Paul stormed from the gym in a state of fury.

  <><><><>

  Eugene actually sought out Paul, to talk to him and see if there was anything he could do. That was the type of person Eugene was.

  Paul had retreated to the science labs located at the end of the south hall. He asked to be left alone and Eugene respected that.

  Upon returning, he heard someone suggest for people to try to get some rest. They’d figure out a plan in the morning.

  Grace had settled back on the bleachers, holding Candice close. Myron had moved from the floor and sat at the table with Max.

  “She was all I had,” Myron lamented. “All I had. When my parents ditched me, she raised me.” “I had a similar life,” Max said. “I know how you feel. I’m really sorry. She was a good woman.”

  “Maybe it was for the best,” Myron said sadly. “I mean, I hate the way she died, but how hard would it be for her?”

  Eugene slid in at the table. “Her death is a tragedy and loss. That’s the only way to look at it. I am very sorry, son.”

  Myron rested his head on his arms. “This place smells.”

  Eugene knew what he meant. There was a sour smell to it, and they had no way to clean up the blood, which was everywhere. “We won’t be here for long. We really need to brainstorm. We need to get these people out of here. If we knew of a safe zone, we only need to get to the airport. I’m a pilot; hell, I’ll fly us to wherever we need to go.”

  Myron lifted his head. “Thompson, Manitoba.”

  “Canada?” Eugene asked.

  Myron sniffled. “It’s a safe zone. Tara made contact. Paul knew about it and he never told us. It’s a really secluded place. She’s been talking to the guy who runs it, and they’re taking survivors.”

  “Can we reach them?” Max asked.

  “I don’t know. Tara can.”

  Eugene stood. “Then let’s go call Tara. Max, can you stay back and keep an eye on things here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about Paul?” Myron asked. “Should we get him?”

  Eugene glared at him.

  “I guess not,” Myron said, following him out of the gym.