by Jeannie Rae
“So you have to have a radio to talk to someone else, you can’t call a number through the radio, can you?” Roxy asked as she looked around the small closet-sized room.
A small table with the radio equipment atop filled the room with a folding chair tucked under the table, leaving barely enough room to pull out the chair. The radio itself was a box-like contraption with wires protruding and connecting, and a microphone.
“Nah, not that I know of at least. I think even if the phones were workin’ you still couldn’t connect to a phone line. This here, uses radio waves.”
“Well I’m glad that you were able to get a hold of your sister on this radio. I like your plan Mattie,” Roxy said with a gentle smile.
Roxy advanced to the window in the kitchen and looked out at the street below. She could see a few of the weirdoes, as Mattie called them, drifting aimlessly through the street near the overturned bus. She looked down as Gypsy brushed her leg. Both dogs looked up at Roxy intensely.
“Mattie,” Roxy turned around. “Would you happen to have anything to eat for my dogs? Just maybe leftovers in the fridge or something would be fine. I'm sorry to ask, I’m running low on treats. I’ll pay you for it. And is there a place that I can take them out to do their business?” She reached into her pocket, fishing out a twenty dollar bill.
“Darlin, your money is no good here. I am sure that I do have something for them, just give me one minute,” he said.
Mattie plucked two mismatched soup bowls from the cupboard and put them on the counter. Reaching in the fridge, his hands returned with three leftover hot dogs, two hamburgers, a bowl of fries, and an open can of beans. As he filled the bowls, the ladies crept over to him. Encircling Mattie, they paced back and forth with their noses in the air, like sharks circling their prey in a water tank. He plopped the bowls on the floor and the ladies began devouring the goulash of food.
“Thank you Mattie,” Roxy said with a smile.
“Now, don't you worry about it. It's like a war out there. We've got to stick together. Oh, where are my manners are either of you hungry? We should have a quick bite to eat, before we go. The dogs can do their business out in the yard, when we leave, that’s where the truck is anyhow,” Mattie motioned to the rear of the room, in the direction of the fence enclosed yard.
“I don't mean to be difficult, but I’m a vegetarian. You wouldn't happen to have anything that might not have any meat in it would you?” Roxy asked bashfully, as the aroma of the hot dogs and chili taunted her hunger.
For some reason, meat is all that she'd been craving since yesterday afternoon. She figured that she hadn’t eaten enough protein. Thinking back, she really hadn't eaten much but, she'd gone longer on much less and has never had cravings like this before.
“Sure do, if you don't mind a PB and J sandwich,” Mattie said pulling out the peanut butter.
“That'll be perfect,” she said with relief. Peanut Butter would have the needed protein that her body is craving. And hopefully stave off the urge for meat.
Unexpectedly, the television blared out a long BEEP. Mattie raced to the TV and slightly lowered the volume. Dave and Roxy stood behind Mattie and gazed at the screen, waiting to see if there would be news about what had happened in The Port last night. The screen flickered for a moment before showing a man in a navy suit sitting behind a desk, and on the wall behind him the words, GHLN News Desk Channel 5.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“It appears that it is no longer safe for us to continue to broadcast from our headquarters,” the news anchor announced. “We are placing this broadcast on a loop, until we have set up a remote broadcasting station. At that time, we will continue to bring you additional information as it is available. Thank you and be safe.”
The screen darkened momentarily, then static flashed on and off for a few seconds, until the anchorman appeared once more. Sitting erect behind the news desk was a man that nearly all of the residents of Port Steward had become accustomed to seeing delivering the news each evening. Henry Lewis is a local, born and raised in this small town. He is a face that the community trusts and relies upon to keep them up to date with the happenings in Port Steward and all across the world. Although some older residents prefer to get their news by watching his nightly programming, for the younger generation and the tech savvy, he has cell phone apps available for download for up to the minute breaking news.
“Good evening. We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you breaking news. Henry Lewis here, from GHLN News, channel five. There is chaos in the streets of Port Steward. There seems to be a terrible outbreak of disease in our fine town at this early hour. Dear residents, please know, that the disease does not appear to be airborne at this time. The sickened individuals are indiscriminately biting otherwise healthy residents and tourists alike and infecting them with the disease. CDC officials are estimating that it is being spread by the infected individual's saliva entering the bloodstream of the host. This causes the host to become ill with flu-like symptoms, and within as little as a few minutes to a few hours, the host appears to die. Pulse and breathing fall to undetectable levels for a short time, then the host awakens.
“The Center for Disease Control reports, that it is unclear at this point, what disease this is exactly. Those infected appear to have the following symptoms of the disease:
“Their skin becomes pale in color, reducing to an unnatural three to four shades lighter than it had previously been. Their veins look as if they are black in color and can be seen all over their body, through the pale skin. Their skin becomes extremely dry, with the lips cracking and skin peeling away, and the whites of their eyes and their gums turning to black. It is not known whether or not they can see or if they locate others by some other sense. The infected have shown no signs of speech or even comprehension of language, possibly due to some damage to the brain from the disease. There are some that can move extremely quickly, while others move far slower. It is undetermined at this time why some are faster than others.
“What is clear, is that they are extraordinarily strong, regardless of their speed. They have an unquenchable hunger for—” the anchorman’s strong voice hesitated for a moment. “A hunger for human flesh. It seems that is the driving force behind the disease.
“The CDC will be holding a press conference within a few hours. There have been many rumors as to what may have caused this ranging from another strain of the flu, to a terrorist attack, and so on, but at this time, it is unknown what has caused this devastation in our resilient town. This endemic appears to be spreading much quicker than any known disease, and has the potential to spread to epidemic proportions, if not contained.
The National Guard will be commencing preliminary quarantine protocol with the assistance of the local law enforcement. Residents of Port Steward, please remain inside your homes. Lock your doors and board up your windows.
“Do whatever you can to keep yourself, and your loved ones safe. It looks like it is no longer safe for us to continue to broadcast from our headquarters. We are placing this broadcast on a loop, until we have set up a remote broadcasting station. At that time, we will continue to bring you additional information as it is available. Thank you and be safe.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Hank and Joe looked at each other stunned at the information the newscast had conveyed. Joe felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him and Hank looked as if all the blood had drained from his pasty face. Joe broke the stare first. He stood up and called for Kate, as Hank dashed to the side door leading to the garage.
“Hey Dad,” Kate answered from the kitchen, coming around the corner with a plate of breakfast, her mouth still chewing. “You’ve gotta have some of this breakfast. It’s delish!”
“Kate, stay in there for a minute, okay?” He called out following Hank to the door.
“Okay,” Kate said taking another bite of her hash browns.
Hank pulled his pistol from his holster and opened the do
or, with Joe following close behind. Pausing for a moment in the doorway, they didn't see any commotion but didn't see Mary or Jake either. Joe quickly looked around feeling quite insecure, entering the room unarmed. Just inside the doorway, Joe saw some rusty garden tools in the corner, to his right. He grabbed an old hoe and held it tightly over his shoulder ready to swing.
A sinking feeling came over Joe. Shaken up by what he had heard on the news broadcast, it all made sense, now. After escaping the carnival, Joe had tried not to think about what had occurred there, burying it deep beneath his worries about Roxy. H recalled that he had pointed out to Kate that the ones that had been attacked on the ground had disappeared, and that he’d thought that they were under the wheel. Joe wanted to slap himself. After Jake had been bitten, all Joe could see was an injured firefighter that had likely saved Hank’s life last night. I should have thought about the carnival. I should have pieced it together. Guilt crept into Joe’s mind.
The men stepped around the front of the parked truck, toward the cold box. The door hung slightly ajar, with a fissure of dim, yellowish light glowing around the door. The men hurried to the entry, without hesitation, Hank heaved the door outward, pointing his weapon inside the cooler. Just five feet from the door, Jake stood next to a broken plate and mound of eggs and sausage on the floor, with his back to Hank and Joe.
“Hey Jake,” Hank said softly. “Where is Mary?”
Jake just stood there as if Hank had not said a word.
“Jake,” Hank's voice commanded attention.
Jake turned slowly, as if he were in slow motion. He was about half way turned around when they got a view of him. His face and mouth were covered in blood, as were his hands and arms.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Jake watched Joe and Hank with vacant eyes, his head cocked to the side, and a blank expression upon his translucent face. The pair stood just inside the cold box. Hank pointed his gun at Jake. Joe lifted the garden hoe off his shoulder, while tightening his grip, as the chilly air waft over his body. The dimly lit cold box illuminated a sparse, yellowish tint from the low wattage, incandescent bulb within. Jake grunted and snorted. All color had drained from his face, leaving behind a network of black, veins beneath the skin. His mouth and hands were dripping with blood, and the front of his shirt and pants were saturated in it. Joe noticed a slight blood trail from the doorway of the cold box to Jake.
Jake expelled a guttural growl, before rushing them. Without hesitation, Hank fired his weapon. The bullet penetrated through Jake’s cheek, blood spattering onto the cartons behind him, as his body fell backward. The men remained still, waiting to see if he would rise. Hank stepped forward, nudging Jake’s leg with his foot. His body remained motionless.
“Mary!” Hank yelled turning toward the door. “Mary!”
Joe walked out of the cold box first, turning back to Hank, “Mary may be infected.”
“Don't say that Joe. That’s my wife you’re talking about. She's fine,” he gruffly said, tightening his expression.
“I'm just saying, I don't think that was Jake's blood all over him,” Joe said quietly.
Without responding, Hank moved around the outside of the cold box looking for his wife. Sighing, he circled back to Joe, who still gripped the hoe as though it were fashioned of gold.
A shadow crossed the room. Catching a glimpse of the silhouette, both men, turned toward the front of the garage. At first all Joe could see were the rays of light shining in from the small windows in the top of the garage door. Caught in the beams of light were Hank’s truck in the middle of the garage and the supply boxes along the wall. Joe’s eyes slowly adjusted to the contrast in light. A silhouette between the back of the truck and the garage door could barely be seen. It moved toward them, shuffling along slowly. Hank's gun hung loosely in his hand, while Joe's grip his weapon tightened. Mary shambled into the light holding her neck. Blood streamed through her fingertips and dripped down the front of her dress.
“Hank,” her raspy voice whispered, as she reached out, before collapsing to the ground.
Rushing to her side, Hank tried to touch her, but hesitated. On his knees, dropping the gun to the floor, he cradled her face in his hands. “Mary, no,” he cried.
Joe looked down at the motionless woman on the cold, concrete floor, a pool of blood forming beneath her shoulders. She was gone. Mere minutes, if not seconds ago, she had emerged from the kitchen, untouched by this disease, as the news anchor called it. If only we had fixed the TV sooner. Then his mind took an abrupt turn.
“Hank, she’s going to wake up,” Joe said.
Hank wept over his wife’s lifeless body. His eyes were nearly shut as the tears dribbled from his eyes onto the face of his wife. Now bawling uncontrollably, as his entire body quaked in sync with his sobs.
“Hank, I am sorry. But you need to get back,” Joe said.
“What?” Hank looked up at Joe with anger, waiting for an answer.
“You heard the news broadcast. She is going to wake up… as one of them. She's infected,” Joe reasoned.
Joe’s heart pained as his eyes fell to Mary, then to the anguish upon Hank’s face. The strong, confident savior that had rescued him and Kate last night had been reduced to a bawling, broken man. A few tears snuck their way from Joe’s tear ducts to his eyes, teetering on his bottom lids. Holding his eyes open for as long as he could, he blinked, driving the salty liquid down his cheeks. As he wicked away the tears, he knew what fate had in store for this woman. No longer would she be the lively lady who welcomed strangers into her shop for safety, or the woman who cooked the tasty smelling breakfast that still steamed in the kitchen. Mary was gone. Soon in her place a monster would surface disguised as the woman they knew. Joe had no words to comfort Hank. This was something Hank would have to work through himself. Personal experience had taught Joe that when man loses a wife, there is a choice to be made, to stand up or to fall—and that choice belongs to each man alone.
“I know,” Hank said sobbing, turning his head back to look at her. “I just…”
Mary’s eyes opened, revealing blackened scleras. She lunged forward chomping her teeth closed, just inches from Hank's face. Her tongue and gums had already changed color to a tar-like black. She growled in a throaty, inhumanly tone. Hank pushed her away, pinning her down by the wrists. She continued biting at his hands and face, nearly connecting with almost every attempt. Joe, dropping the hoe, picked up the gun, aiming it at Mary's head.
“Hank, I won't shoot her unless tell me to,” Joe stressed.
Joe, having lost his wife two years, four months and eight days ago, knew what the death of a wife can do to a man. He tried to put himself in Hank’s shoes right now. If I pull the trigger before Hank is ready to let go of her, he will surely kill me for it, I know I would. It’s his choice, if he is willing to risk being bitten by her, then it’s up to him. I will let him make the choice, and then I will make my mine to protect my daughter from any threat to her safety.
“Mary… Mary are you in there, anywhere?” Hank’s voice cracked.
Snapping at his arms, she then lunged at his face again, narrowly missing it. Hank swung out of the way just in time.
“Hank!” Joe shouted.
“I love you babe,” Hank said as he looked at Mary with sorrow, his eyes darting back and forth across her face.
“Hank!” Joe yelled after Mary’s teeth nearly connected with Hank’s hand.
“Do it Joe,” Hank said, slightly nodding, utterly breathless, “She's not my wife anymore.”
Joe fired the round into her skull. The crack of the gunshot echoed through the garage, making it sound as if the shot had ripped a hole in time itself. Then silence.
CHAPTER FORTY
Roxy sat in the middle of Mattie’s truck with Dave on her right, and Mattie driving. Her dogs were tucked in the back of the truck, safely contained by a camper shell. Her mind reeled about the news broadcast they’d watched at Mattie’s before setting out to Lynn’
s place. To hear that this insanity was sweeping through the entire town of Port Steward, shook her very foundation. After calling this little town her home for her entire life, it now seemed as if it was on the brink of ruin. The news anchor had said that officials were setting up a city-wide preliminary quarantine. She didn’t exactly know what that entailed, but she imagined traffic would be backed up at the bottleneck. The only way in or out of town by land, was on the interstate, through the bottleneck. They were probably setting up some sort of examination area to determine who had been infected before letting anyone leave. The whole situation still seemed unreal to her. How in the world could something like this happen?
“This is her street. It’s ‘bout eight houses down,” Mattie said, focusing on the road ahead.
The streets to Lynn’s house had been relatively quiet. There had only been a few infected along the way, some had even charged toward the truck, but none connected.
Mattie pointed to a brown house at the end of the street with a rusty, wrought iron fence around it. The gate had been left open, as Mattie pulled into the driveway. All three exited the truck, as Mattie lifted the bench seat up, in the cab, and stowed two bags beneath the seat. Mattie pulled out a revolver and tucked into his waistband, then slung the remaining bag over his shoulder, and hurried over to the gate to close it.
“I’ll leave the ladies in the back for now, so we can check in with Lynn first,” Roxy said, pulling off her brown blouse and opening the back of the camper shell. Stuffing her shirt in her duffle bag, near the tailgate, she rubbed her pooches’ heads before closing the back and twisting the handle to the locked position.
