Blood Type Infected (Book 1): No Future For Man

by Marchon, Matthew

  “It’s safe guys, come on.”

  Their terrified faces come popping out of the vent, coughing and crying. The fear in their eyes is visible even from this distance. I don’t envy them living with the memory of what they’ve witnessed. This brutal attack on the senses is enough to change an individual and shake him to the core. Neither of them will ever be the same again.

  “Noah,” Tyrone’s usually confident voice is nothing but a frail, high pitched whisper. “What the fuck is going on?”

  I can only shake my head. How do you tell someone that zombies are trying to eat them? “Run, before it’s too late.”

  “There’s more of them? There can’t be. Naw man. What the hell is going on? Noah, I can’t.” Tyrone is crying. I was with him at his father’s funeral. I’ve never seen him cry. He’s strong.

  “I’m sorry, they’re everywhere. Come on.” I hold out my hand, motioning for them to get down. The sprinkler washed the blood off me but I don’t risk letting them touch me. “I’ll get you out of here. If we hurry, I might be able to get you on Marty’s bus.”

  They look like two scared animal cubs, waiting in their hole for their mother to return. Reluctantly, Tyrone turns around and comes down feet first, followed by Darius. I hold the desk to keep it steady while watching the hall as closely as I’m watching the barbecued bodies on the floor.

  “Come on, I’m gonna get you out of here.”

  “They broke the door down Noah.” Tyrone isn’t his usual cool and collected self, he’s clearly in shock. “There musta been ten of ’em. I thought we were safe. They just pounced the second they were in and started eating people. There was blood everywhere man. People started jumping out the damn windows. Denise. Antuan. They just jumped. Head first.”

  They were in the room I just came from. They witnessed the destruction firsthand. Hell doesn’t seem so bad anymore. I shouldn’t have saved them. What I’ve done is far worse. They have to remember what they saw, what they heard, smelled. By nightfall, they’ll wish they jumped from the window too.

  “I know. Stay behind me, let me know if you see one coming. I’ll get you outside.”

  “Get us outside? You ain’t coming?” Tyrone stops to look at me and his face takes me back to kindergarten when we used to play on the monkey bars together. The innocence that’s escaped him over the years suddenly comes flooding back in a sea of tormented confusion.

  “I can’t go. I think I’m infected.”

  “No.” He drops his head in disbelief. “No, you can’t be. You can’t. We’re getting our tuxedos for prom next weekend. Remember?” His lower lip quivers as his eyes meet mine. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop the warm tears from burning my cheeks.

  “I remember. Just think, now you don’t have to worry about me looking better than you in a suit.” We laugh but it’s so awkward it makes us cry a little more.

  “How?” Tyrone asks, still not leaving. I want to answer his questions but we have to move. I need to get them outside before Marty and Caylee leave with the bus.

  “I got their blood on me. I watched it turn Mr. Adams. It eats through skin or something.” I start walking as soon as the words leave my lips.

  “Aw man,” Tyrone says, running his hand over his nearly bald head which despite the aerodynamics does not make him faster than me even if he says it does. “How long do you have?”

  “I don’t know. However long it takes for blood to seep through your pores I guess. I know if their blood touches yours or if they bite, you have maybe a minute. So don’t get bit. Don’t even touch them.”

  “What the fuck are they? I mean, I get that they’re some kind of zombie, I’ve seen the Walking Dead and all that, but, why?”

  “I think it’s an experiment gone wrong or biological warfare, like some kind of chemical weapon attack.”

  “What’s gonna happen?” Darius’ shaky whisper catches me off guard.

  “I don’t know.” I wish I could tell them that the cops or the military will step in and save everyone, that the government is already working on a cure and they’ll have everything under control shortly, but I can’t.

  “We’re black,” Darius says from out of nowhere in his usual upbeat voice. “Don’t you know the brothers is supposed to die first in these sorts of situations? You’re my brother, but you ain’t no negro, Noah.”

  See, told you. We all laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world. Crying does nothing. Screaming doesn’t work. Praying obviously doesn’t do a god damn thing. Why not laugh?

  “Look.” I point to the driveway through the broken doorway. “There’s the bus. Just wave him down. I gotta go.”

  “Noah, wait,” Tyrone calls out to me. “Where are you going?”

  “I can’t be here when they pull up.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ll get on too. Go.” I stop on the fifth step and look back. “Do me a favor, tell Caylee she made me the happiest man alive, and I’ll be thinking about her until the end.”

  They’re confused but nod anyway. We’ve been friends forever. I count my blessings that I’ve been able to save the people who mean the world to me, they all have a chance. Tyrone and Darius. Caylee. Marty. Paul. Doug, Shane and Kristen. There’s nothing left to do but say goodbye. I can die content. I was able to be there for those who have always been there for me.

  “Yo, Noah!” I turn back to face Tyrone and Darius as they duck under the padlocked bar and step into the rain. “Thank you.”

  Tyrone pounds his fist off his chest a couple times and scrunches up his face to hold back tears he can’t hide. Darius does the same. I nod and put my fist to my chest as the bus pulls up. I can only see its tires but I still have to turn away. As it is, I’m tempted to fly down the steps and jump on. It takes every fiber of my being to walk up these stairs. I slam my feet down to prove to myself I’m actually doing it.

  The animalistic groans coming from above snap me out of it and I relight the blowtorch. Can’t I just turn already and get this over with? The only thing worse than dying is waiting to do it.

  Or thinking you’re going to when you’re really not. What if I’m not infected? What if the blood that got on Mr. Adams’ skin didn’t make him turn? If his mouth was open, screaming or hyperventilating, he could have ingested it. Or if he got cut when he fell and the blood infected his open wound. What if he rubbed his skin raw while scrubbing at the blood and accidentally infected himself? What if I’m fine and I just sent every living friend I have into a world they won’t last five minutes in?

  CHAPTER 11

  One of the vertical corpses spots me and runs full force, he must have a better nose than the others. I step to the side and position myself against the railing. I don’t want to light it on fire unless I have to. The smell’s made me beyond nauseous, to the point I feel like I could pass out any second. I tell myself it’s nausea but I know what it really is, it’s the slow process of death. I’ll be going the way of Mr. Adams soon.

  I drop to the floor as he leaps towards me, hoping he’ll sail right over the railing but the son of bitch didn’t jump high enough. He teeters on the edge of the second floor, trying to shift his weight so he doesn’t take an unwanted tumble, not without his meal first.

  A quick nudge of his feet sends him over. I know it won’t kill him but at least I don’t have to smell him.

  A glance over the edge confirms my suspicions, he’s still moving. His arms are completely dislocated, dangling at his sides. But he gets up anyway. Nothing stops them, short of destroying them to a point where there’s no body left to move. His head tilts upward and we make eye contact. For a second I swear he looks confused but it’s gone as quick as it came. He takes his first step on a leg I didn’t realize was broken. His knee bends in the wrong direction while he attempts to hobble up the stairs.

  Whoa! What the fuck?

  The net from a lacrosse stick slams down over his head from behind. He teeters backward and falls off the second step. Is that a ha
cksaw? Before he fully hits the ground, someone is sawing his head off his body while he’s wrapped up in the small net. Apparently I’m not the only one not going down without a fight. Unless, did Marty come back for me?

  Dustin? Dustin Norwood. Yeah, leave it to his psychopathic ass to chop off zombie heads with a fucking hacksaw. I’ve never been so happy to see him in my entire life, and believe me when I tell you he’s pulled me out of more than a bind or two.

  “Noah? No shit, dude you’re alive,” he laughs. You’re picturing him laughing like Tyrone in that friendly banter kind of way, like he’s saddened by what’s happening but happy to see a familiar face but no, this is a maniacal laugh. The laugh of someone who just sawed a human’s head off. And liked it. “What the fuck is going on here? Everybody’s dead. What do you got for weapons?”

  “Just this,” I say, holding my blowtorch over the railing for him to see.

  “Oh shit. Nice! Light these bastards up. That’s what I’m talking about. What the fuck are you still doing here though? The glass is broken, you can leave right down here, I’ll cover you. Come on.”

  “I know, I’m the one who broke it. I might be infected. I’m just trying to get people out of here before I turn.”

  “God damn it Noah, you too? Shit. How’d they get you?”

  “Jenny Watson. I got her blood all over me. She was infected.”

  “Yeah, that’ll do it. Fuck,” he yells, kicking the body of the boy he decapitated. “That’s how they got me and Seth. He already went, I’m just waiting now. Killing as many of these fuckers as I can. If you see zombie me, take him out. I’ll do the same for you.”

  “Thank you. Wait, Dustin,” I yell down the stairwell as he disappears. “I just wanted to say thanks for always sticking up for me. For always having my back. Sorry it had to end like this for us.”

  He steps into view below me and looks up. A simple nod of his head is all I get, and it’s all I need. With a stern salute he learned from his honorably discharged, nutcase prick of a father, he returns to the shadows from whence he came.

  I was the only kid who talked to him when he moved here partway through fifth grade. He’s the type to fly off the handle for the stupidest thing, threaten to kill you and your whole family while you sleep, and tomorrow apologize for his outburst and everything is back to normal like you didn’t spend all night watching the front door through your window with the phone in your hand ready to dial 911 at a moment’s notice. Okay so that only happened twice but in all honesty that’s two times too many.

  But for every time he’s been there for me, since fist fights on the playground at recess, I’ve come to accept his mentally unstable tendencies. He’s the kid who’ll shoot up the school, and I’m the one he’ll make sure doesn’t get shot. They laugh behind his back but never to his face. I laugh with him, face to face but never behind his back. He’s crazy, he knows it as well as I do. But he offered to get me out of this messed up situation we’re in, how many others can say that?

  I wonder if everyone he killed was already dead, or if he took some living ones out too? Fucking Norwood. I hope I turn first. I don’t want to have to light him on fire.

  Burning blowtorch in hand, bottle of disinfectant in my pocket, I make my way down the hall to nowhere in particular. I wish I had a holster for it. How badass would that be?

  The water from the sprinklers has finally rinsed their blood from my skin. If I had washed it off right away I wonder if it would have made a difference. It stained my clothes. I can feel it touching me, clinging to me, dying to get inside my body. It’s almost like the blood is alive, trying to find something to contaminate. What in the hell were they thinking? Why would anyone in their right mind create this?

  A group of them are at the window of the chemistry classroom I ventured into once before. She’s not pleading for help anymore. I wonder if Felecia slipped or jumped? Maybe I should have rescued the stuck-up bitch while I had the chance. One of them climbs out the window and stands on the ledge, looking like he’s ready to stage dive into the courtyard below.

  She screams. Felecia’s not dead.

  Oh son of a bitch, you’re gonna do this aren’t you?

  Against my better judgment, I slam into the backside of the huddle and send two of them through the window. They can crowd surf their way straight to hell.

  Two more turn to face me as I duck down and grab at the bloody kid’s ankles, but the flame accidentally catches his shin. I’ve been scared of doing that to myself since I first picked this thing up. The flesh melts from the bone immediately in a stream of black slime. With a quick pull of his ankles, he tips through the window, disappearing from sight.

  I yank the canister from my pocket and spray into the other one’s mouth when he leans in for a bite. The blowtorch lights his head on fire. Flames pour from his face, leaving me staring down a fire breathing zombie. I can’t bear to watch his bubbling flesh for another second. A kick to his chest forces him into the pile of wasted life that fell before him.

  My efforts were in vain. Felecia’s standing as far back on the ledge as she can go but somehow this bastard managed to tightrope his way out to her. Judging by the number of broken zombies in the courtyard, he wasn’t the first to try. I came too late. I yank at the back of his leg anyway, knocking him off balance. He falls but grabs hold of Felecia’s ankle. Her skin’s too wet. He loses his grip but the damage has been done, he brings her down with him.

  “No!”

  I practically throw myself out the window, letting the spray can and blowtorch fall to the cluster of zombies below. Our hands touch just in time but the weight almost pulls me over with her. Either I’m getting weak before I turn or she’s a lot heavier than I thought. Then I see him, dangling beneath her, holding onto her ankle as the others reach for his. The rain is making our hands too slippery. We didn’t have a good grip to begin with. I’m losing her.

  She looks up at me but I don’t see the stuck-up snob I’ve come to know. I just see a scared girl so terrified her face is void of all emotion. I don’t see the girl I was supposed to go to the eighth grade dance with until she laughed in my face for thinking she was actually serious. If I did see the Felecia Harmon I know, I’d let her fall. I should. Instead, I hold her hand harder, hoping if I squeeze tight enough, no more water will be able to seep between our palms and make her slip.

  “I can’t hold on!”

  Her eyes widen before they close so tightly it makes her face scrunch up, begrudgingly accepting the inevitable.

  “You have to kick him off! Hurry!”

  Her gorgeous eyes burst open in a moment of surprise. I think she came to terms with me letting her go, like she understood why I would do it. In that brief moment an expression washes over her face that I’ve never seen there before, she looks apologetic. The foreign sentiment is gone just as quickly as it came. Her feet begin swinging wildly, kicking away at the dangling dead body that refuses to die.

  I’m down to her fingers. She’s barely hanging on. The weight’s too much. The rain, the memories, they’re all too much. I don’t know if I can do this. She’s slipping and taking me over with her. I have to let go. I feel bad, I honestly do. But I’m not sure why.

  The pressure on my arm is suddenly gone. I try to pull it back inside but it’s stuck. Did my shoulder pop out of its socket? I look down to see Felecia staring up at me, at my hand still holding hers. She did it. She kicked him off. But it’s too late. We’re barely hanging on, fingers tensely curled around each other. Her always perfectly manicured nails dig into the inside of my knuckles as we squeeze tighter.

  My eyes dart past hers, beneath her, to the ticking timebomb being kicked around at their undead feet. The blowtorch is still going. If one of them kicks the canister close enough to the flame, they won’t be the only ones going up in the explosion. It’d be so much easier to drop her. I could tell myself she slipped, and for that split second before she’s gone forever, she would think she slipped as well.

 
; “You came back for me.” Her frail voice squeaks and cracks with every breathy syllable. Did I? I don’t know, I guess I did. “Noah, don’t let me fall. Please.”

  With the last bit of strength my body can’t possibly have left, I hang on, letting her fingernails tear through my skin. Our death grip has turned my hand numb and bloody but I continue pulling as the crimson liquid blends in with the rain.

  It doesn’t matter anymore. The can of disinfectant gets bumped into the open flame. I’ve come to terms with my death but don’t particularly feel like burning alive. Or watching as she does, despite my countless wishes at the large fountain downtown that she burn in hell.

  My knees slam against the wall for leverage and I pull with everything I have. Her other hand latches onto the back of my neck just as the canister explodes. For a second it all goes black. Either my eyes closed or I passed out. I didn’t die, that much I know. I can feel the heat as the flames travel up the side of the building. Did I get her through the window in time? I don’t know if I can look.

  The sound of Felecia crying is about the greatest thing I’ve ever heard. Maybe it’s because I saved her life or maybe it’s because I’ve wanted to see her cry since the day she broke my stupid heart. Maybe it’s because crying, laughing, whatever, they don’t mean a damn thing anymore. All I know is that it makes me happy. Her arms around me make me happy.

  Oh no.

  “No no no, don’t touch me!”

  It’s too late. Her arms are around me so tight that she’s probably cutting off circulation, clueless as to what she’s just done. The smooth skin of her wet cheek is pressed against mine, smearing the remains of their poisonous blood between us. Spreading the infection? I don’t even know anymore.

  Her fingers claw at my back, forcing our bodies closer together than I’ve ever been with anyone. Her soaking wet hair rests against my neck and all I can do is hold her like I wanted to at the dance. For a moment, that’s where we are. Somehow we’ve managed to turn back time. If this is how I’m going to die, I guess I can’t complain.