Riley moved quickly through her house. She didn’t think twice about the fact that it was very likely to be the last time she ever saw the place. Riley never got attached to places. She had been moved all over Canada throughout her life, as well as a few stops in other countries. If anything, the backwoods cabin she and her family spent a few weeks in every year, the one they were headed to now, was the closest thing she ever had to a stable home. She never had a chance to get attached to anything personal. Objects meant nothing to her and relationships with people outside the Bishop clan were still something she was new to. She preferred online entities when she wanted contact and spent almost all her social hours in chat rooms and in online forums.
Riley walked into her room and hurried over to her closet. She stripped out of her scrubs and white coat and threw on a tight black T-shirt and a pair of black pants. The pants had zippers around the knees so she could turn them into shorts. Because of the hot weather, she opted to do this, although she looped the detached halves on her arms to bring them. It would get cold up north, and although she had packed lots of winter gear, it would be easier just to reattach the pants until it got really cold. She then threw on a clean pair of socks and a good pair of shoes for walking, running, climbing, or whatever other physical activity she might get into.
It was while she sat on her bedroom floor, tying up the second shoe that the little infected girl burst into her room. The snarling menace ran through the door and leaped upon her bed. She stopped suddenly, staring out the window. Frozen.
Riley stayed equally frozen. She should have been more careful, but once she had given them the title of zombie, it was easy to forget they could open doors. LeBlanc must not have bothered to lock the front door when he came in from moving the ambulance. Riley was like a marble statue, not daring to twitch even an eye. The girl stood on her bed, out of reach, just in front of Riley. She hadn’t seemed to notice Riley sitting to her left yet; she was transfixed by something else.
There was a slight movement near the door, and Riley slowly moved only her eyes to look. Cole stood in the doorway, rifle raised. He moved as silently as a wraith. When he locked eyes with Riley for a moment, she couldn’t read them. That bothered her greatly, especially considering how easily she read him earlier. Then, he ever so slowly side stepped away from the room. Riley had no idea where he was going. She wondered why he didn’t help her. Was he just going to ditch her? It wouldn’t surprise her. She might have done the same. They had access to the map she made and all the supplies were packed and ready to go.
Every move was carefully done to make no sound and to draw no attention. Just when Riley thought she might have to fend for herself, she saw LeBlanc slowly take Cole’s place. LeBlanc looked at her while his rifle pointed at the girl. His eyes held the question. Riley gave the slightest nod. The moment she did, the little girl’s torn and bloody face snapped around, her sunken eyes boring into Riley. She was fast, but LeBlanc was faster. Before the girl could even completely turn her body to follow her dead eyes, her head was blown apart by not one, but two shots. She collapsed into a heap on the bedspread.
Riley quickly jumped to her feet, forgetting all about her half-tied shoelace. Although she knew it was going to happen, it was still unexpected. She grew up surrounded by the threat of imminent death, but she hadn’t realized just how much her time spent being a doctor had affected her. That was a job about saving life, not taking it away. Although she could tell the girl was already dead, had to be dead, it still jarred her. She had been standing and moving only moments ago and now her body lay prone and blown apart on her bed. Riley walked over to her and looked at the girl. She didn’t know her name, or how she became this way. It was like the woman Riley shot in Cole’s brother’s house. Even though she didn’t kill this one herself, it was so much worse because it was just a little girl.
Riley picked up a corner of the bed’s comforter, one that didn’t get blood on it, and pulled it up and over the girl. She couldn’t have a proper burial or even a death shroud, but she could at least be covered.
“We should go,” Cole said from the doorway. “Now, before more come.”
Riley looked at the small lump and nodded. She turned and headed out the doorway, brushing past LeBlanc and Cole. There was a sudden flame of anger at both of them burning in the pit of her stomach. They hadn’t been the ones who created the monstrous virus/prion hybrid, but they did work for such people. They knew of its existence and told no one. Still, they had probably just saved her life and had valuable information. She swallowed the fire, keeping it in her belly instead of lashing out. She forgot that not long ago she had been laughing with one of them. Perhaps, after they were further north, she would try to deal with it. Hell, maybe even on the ride it would subside on its own.
When Riley walked out the door, she spotted five more zombies making their way toward the house. Four of them were the slower, dim-witted kind. They shuffled and stumbled, and one even fell over. He had tripped over his own feet. The fifth was smarter, faster. He spotted Riley quickly and started running head long at her.
This time Cole stepped forward to blow him away. He had to take several shots before hitting him in the head.
“LeBlanc’s a better shot than you,” Riley stated without really thinking.
“I know.” Cole shouldered his rifle and led the rest of the way to the ambulance. “That’s why I stepped aside to let him take the shot in the bedroom. I didn’t think that girl deserved a fuck up.”
Cole gained a little bit more respect, dulling Riley’s anger flare somewhat. “Where’s LeBlanc now?” As she climbed into the ambulance’s driver seat, she realized he wasn’t even outside yet.
“He’ll be out in a minute.” Cole went around to the passenger side and got in. “He’s just taking a moment to pull himself together. He didn’t plan on shooting any little girls when he woke up this morning.”
Riley’s anger all but left. Just a handful of sentences were all it took. That had to be a record. She knew now that the seed was there, and the anger could come back at any moment. She’d have to watch that and make sure she could control it if it decided to rise up at an inappropriate time. She had never been an emotional person, but the last few hours had been bringing out all sorts of things in her. Maybe it was because the thing she had been putting her life on hold for, was finally occurring. It scared her.
They waited for LeBlanc. He came out presently and ran over to the ambulance, pulling open the back door and jumping in amongst all the gear.
“Let’s roll!” He didn’t sound like anything was wrong.
Riley briefly wondered if Cole was lying to her, but she couldn’t think of any other reason for LeBlanc to have taken so long to follow them outside. She started up the engine and pulled quickly out of the driveway. Although she could have easily run over at least one of the zombies, possibly sparing someone else, she avoided hitting them. She also avoided running over the dead bodies in the street as they went downhill.
* * *
As they headed through suburbia, it was very obvious things had gone badly here. Riley originally thought it would take longer to spread out from the city, but she hadn’t counted on the several day gestation period. Things were broken all over and people wandered the streets. Some clearly zombies, some not. Some impossible to tell. They didn’t stop to pick up anyone. They had no way to tell if they had been infected or not. Besides, it seemed like most of them ran away at the sight of a moving vehicle anyway. The zombies tended to run at the vehicle.
Several more cars were on the roads now too. People were starting to flee in all directions. It wouldn’t be long before all the roads out of town were clogged, not to mention all the accidents that were bound to happen. They had already come across one that looked like two people had decided to ignore the stop signs and had smashed into each other in their haste.
Riley thought it was rather like sleeping. She had had dreams of such things when she was a child. Living it now, b
reathing it, was so surreal. Although she had been trained her whole life for just such an event to occur, to actually have it happen was so odd. So very unreal.
She wondered if her dad would say, I told you so.
22:
The College Student
Misha lay completely still in the bushes, breathing slowly and evenly. His lips were
right against the soft dirt, and he was practically breathing it in. Several branches pressed uncomfortably into his back and sides. The dog, Rifle, lay pressed up against his legs, overheating them. Rifle knew of the need for silence and didn’t even pant, despite the heat. No matter how uncomfortable Misha was, he wouldn’t dare move.
He hadn’t moved for the past ten minutes and his muscles were starting to cramp, but the woman on the lawn was too much of a threat. She ran back and forth, snarling and snapping at the air. Misha was lucky he was taking things slowly or else she would have spotted him for sure.
A gunshot or a vehicle backfiring sounded in the distance, perhaps a few blocks over. The woman’s head snapped around in that direction. She paused, as if debating the sound, then took off running full tilt.
Misha still didn’t dare to move. He couldn’t be sure she wasn’t going to come back. Rifle seemed surer than him though and began shuffling out of the brush. Misha thought the dog was going to leave without him, but he returned a moment later. He snuffled around the brush in front of Misha’s face, then gave a low whine thinking something was wrong. Misha finally moved. His muscles both screamed and sighed in relief. He scrabbled out of the brush and stretched his arms and legs on the lawn. Even Rifle did some stretching.
“How much farther do you think it is?” Misha whispered to the German shepherd. Since leaving his home, with Dean dead in the basement, he had only managed to travel a few blocks.
The shepherd cocked his head to the side, not comprehending the question. Or perhaps he was thinking about it, trying to do the math of distance versus travel time, and adding in the possibility of threats they would have to stop for. Both these possibilities seemed likely to Misha.
When his muscles felt like they would co-operate well enough, Misha set off in the direction of Rifle’s house. He had gotten it into his head that someone with a dog named Rifle must surely own a rifle, and that, because the dog was running loose, his owner wasn’t home and wouldn’t miss the gun if Misha were to “borrow” it. Although Misha had never fired a gun before, his dad used to take him hunting, so he knew the basic operation. That and he had watched a lot of movies. He knew the most important thing was never to point the business end at himself, or someone he didn’t want to hurt. Or some dog, as the case currently was.
The process was slow. Misha stuck to the sides of buildings and fences, crawling through bushes when he could. His pale skin was becoming covered in angry red scratches and dirt. A few wounds were deep enough to draw a bit of blood, but none was bad enough that he had to worry about them.
He crawled through some flowerbeds lining the side of a house and headed toward the fence at the rear end of the backyard. A loud shattering sound from inside the house caused him to pause. Carefully turning his head around, Misha peered through a pair of brightly coloured flowers he didn’t know the name of. He stared at the house for several minutes but saw no movement beyond the glass and curtains. Misha decided to continue on his way, but kept his ears open for any more sounds from the house.
What a strange saying that was, keeping your ears open. As far as Misha could tell, the holes in the sides of his head were always open. When he had been learning English, he realized there were many sayings that were odd, in all languages. He often wondered where they came from, and sometimes, during his free time, he would look them up on the internet. This one, he supposed, was just the auditory equivalent of keeping one’s eyes open. Keeping your eyes peeled was another one. That just sounded painful.
The large wooden slats of the fence loomed before him. Misha crouched in the shrubbery and looked toward the top, and to the left and the right. There was no gate in this fence to get to the other side. Perhaps he could climb it. He peered out from the shrubs at the house. Movement at one of the upper windows caught his eye. So there was someone in there. He looked back at the fence, now hesitant to climb. He would be exposed. Some scratching turned his attention further along the fence. At first, he thought it was someone on the other side scratching at the boards. It turned out to be Rifle, on this side, digging furiously.
Misha scooted through the dirt over to the dog. There was already a fair-sized hole under the fence from some other animal and Rifle was only making it bigger. Once it was large enough, the big dog squeezed his way through, kicking his back legs in a way that nearly made Misha laugh out loud. Once the dog was through he turned around and stuck his nose back under the fence, snuffling.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Misha assured him with whispered breath.
As he squirmed under the fence, the boards scraped painfully across his back. He didn’t like the yard on the other side. There were no bushes, flowerbeds, or trees. There was no cover of any kind. The only things on this back lawn were a back porch with a barbecue on it, and a clothesline with no clothes. The sliding door that led out onto the porch was wide open.
Misha stuck close to the fence and crouched low as he made his way around the yard. He tried to stick to the shadows cast by the wooden fence, but the sun was so high in the sky that there weren’t many. There weren’t any clouds up there either; it was a perfect blue sky day.
“Excuse me, boy?”
Misha startled, wheeling around to face the back of the house, skinny arms up to defend himself. On the porch stood an old black woman with a walker. She peered at him though a pair of small spectacles perched upon her nose.
“Could you help me hang out my laundry?” she asked.
Misha had never been more confused. He looked down at Rifle, but the dog hadn’t taken an attack stance.
“Who’s that with you?” The woman looked at Rifle. “Is it Harly? Did you finally bring my grandson to visit? Come here, Harly, and let me take a look at you.”
Misha had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but he took a step closer anyway. Rifle trotted a few more steps, sniffing at the air. He swished his tail a few times, and then went up to the woman. Trusting the dog, Misha decided it was safe to follow.
“So good of you to come and see your mother, Clark.” The woman gave Misha a winning smile when he came near. “Come help me in the kitchen, I’m making soup.”
“I thought you were doing the laundry.” Misha slowly followed the woman into her house, checking all the corners.
“Nonsense!” The woman waved a hand about. “I don’t do laundry on Tuesdays, you should know that. Your memory must be going bad.”
With that, it dawned on Misha what was going on. The woman probably had Alzheimer’s. It was the only reason Misha could think of that would explain why he could be mistaken for her son. She was completely addled.
“Where did my soup go?” the woman frowned at the empty stove. “Oscar must have run off with it again. He never waits until things are done cooking. I keep telling him, ‘it’ll taste better when it’s cooked properly,’ but he just keeps on eating it too soon anyway. No patience in that boy.”
As the woman prattled on about people Misha knew nothing about and filled up a pot presumably to make more soup, Misha looked around the whole kitchen. Things seemed to be where they should be which led Misha to believe that the woman didn’t live in the house alone.
“Who else is here?” Misha listened carefully for the sounds of other people but couldn’t hear any.
“That annoying buzzard Rachael is probably around somewhere. Rachael!” The woman’s yell scared Misha into flinching and half ducking. He instinctively stepped nearer the still open rear door. The woman and Misha listened for a moment but there was no sound. “She must have gone to the mart again. I don’t know why you boys hired that woman. I don’t ne
ed to be taken care of, and she spends half the time shopping anyway.”
Misha sat at the table, grateful to get a rest. He knew he was taking advantage of this woman, but right now, morals weren’t too high on his list of behaviours. He wasn’t even sure his list existed anymore. It had become an instinctive free-for-all in his head.
The woman continued going on about this and that. It was hard for Misha to follow along. Sometimes she seemed to know what year it was, other times she was far back in the past. When she knew the year, she seemed stuck in thinking that it was Tuesday instead of Saturday. Thankfully, Misha didn’t seem to be expected to reply to anything and could just sit there in silence. Rifle lay down at his side, head up and following the woman’s path around the kitchen. When the water boiled, she threw in pasta instead of soup. Eventually the food finished cooking, and the woman piled pasta onto four big plates. She set the table for four, not seeming to realize that Misha was still sitting there. When she sat down across from him, she stared at him long and hard.
“Who are you?” she finally said.
Misha decided lying wouldn’t do her any harm. “I’m a writer. I came by to ask you your life story, remember?” He couldn’t write anything good if his life depended on it, but it was the first thing to pop into Misha’s head.
The woman scrutinized him some more. “I see.” She then took a big bite out of her pasta. “I forgot the sauce.” She went to the fridge and took out a jar of pasta sauce. She dumped a heap of it onto each plate, cold. “Eat up,” she told Misha.
Misha ate. He had never been fond of pasta. He had always preferred slabs of meat, but he dug into his plate with gusto. Realizing he didn’t know when his next meal was going to be, he decided to make the most of this one. When the woman wasn’t paying attention, Misha picked up one of the extra plates and put it on the floor for Rifle. The dog’s tail wagged ferociously back and forth as he began gobbling it up.
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