by Hunter Shea
He laughed so hard, he broke into another coughing jag.
“You’re a cop?” Buck said.
The man swallowed hard, cleared his throat. “Am, was, I don’t even know anymore.”
Daniel said, “Then you must know what happened.”
Wiping tears from his eyes, he replied, “I know a lot of shit blew up from here to the city and north of us.”
“How far did the attack go? Who did it? Do you know what we were hit with?” Buck asked in rapid fire.
“I don’t have a fucking clue, man. Everything happened so fast. Before we knew it, all communications cut out. Then the power went. I was on my beat over on Katonah Avenue when it went down. It was fucking bedlam. There was nothing I could do. They all thought I had the answers, like you. I knew as much as they did.”
Buck’s heart sank.
“You all look in pretty good shape,” the man said, then eyed Rey and Dakota. He called over to them, “Did you see the white smoke?”
Dakota replied, “Yes. We were in the middle of it, like a fog.” Her flesh was bathed in sweat.
He motioned for Daniel and Buck to come closer, then lowered his voice. “I don’t know what was in that smoke, but it’s lethal. I got a whiff of it before I holed up in someone’s basement. Guess that’s why I outlasted most others.”
Daniel had to restrain himself from grabbing the man’s shirt. “What do you mean outlasted most others?”
He straightened up as best he could on the stool and stared at them incredulously. “You’ve been out there. They’re all dead, man. Those who aren’t, like me, are just waiting. And the way I feel now, I hope it comes soon.”
62
When Elizabeth overheard the man talking to Daniel and Buck, her heart felt as if it had stopped beating, filling with blood until it was about to burst.
No! Rey was not going to die. What did he mean about white smoke?
“Stay here with your brother,” she said to Gabriela and Miguel. They shifted into a booth next to Rey. Alexiana had found a few bags of chips. She gave them to the children and then held Elizabeth’s hand as they made their way to the sick policeman. Max stayed by the front door, out of earshot.
Thank God for that, Elizabeth thought. She was worried enough about him and what he’d been forced to do outside.
Elizabeth strode up to the man. He looked as if he was about to slip off the stool. “You can’t mean everyone is dead or dying. There has to be help somewhere.”
He lowered his eyes. “Ma’am, I’m sorry for saying that so loud. Those your kids?”
“Yes.”
“Look, I don’t know who attacked us or what they dropped on us, but there was something laced in the heavy, white smoke that’s killing everyone who was exposed to it.”
“If that was the case, we’d see more bodies. We walked at least ten blocks and didn’t see a single one,” Daniel said. She wrapped her arm around his waist.
The man swallowed hard. “It doesn’t do it right away. From what I gather, the more you breathed in, the quicker it works. Most people ran to their homes when everything went to hell. I’ll bet that if you checked in the houses and apartment buildings, you’d see more than your fair share of bodies.”
She thought of what Daniel had told her about Mrs. Fumarelli and the old man around the block. The acid tinge of bile bit the back of her throat.
“If that’s the case, the military has to have some triage units set up somewhere,” Buck said, steadying the man and offering him a bottle of water. He took three loud gulps.
“Who the fuck knows,” he said. “The only way to find out is to either walk until you see it for yourself, or run into someone who’s been there. We’re deaf, dumb, and blind now. Whoever did this just turned us into cavemen. Sick fucking cavemen.”
Elizabeth considered the antibiotics she’d taken from the doctor’s office. She ran to the bag, emptying out a couple of the most potent pills. She gave one each to Rey and Dakota. If people were too sick to leave their houses, they weren’t able to get medical attention. She had to pray that being able to get some potent drugs into Rey and Dakota would make all the difference in the world.
“Here,” she said to the cop. “Take this.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a very strong antibiotic. Doctors use it when all others fail. Kind of a last resort.”
He bounced the pill in his palm. “It can’t hurt at this point.” The pill was thick and chalky and he almost coughed it back up. She also gave him three Tylenol. She didn’t need to feel his forehead to know he was burning with fever.
Now her other concern was contagion. People exposed to the white smoke were infected, but could they in turn infect others?
“Where were you folks headed?” he asked, his eyelids fluttering. Sleep was tugging at him hard.
“We don’t know,” Daniel said. “We were hoping to find some kind of base of operations so we could get proper medical attention.”
“Dan, help me set him down,” Buck said. The two men gently laid him down on the floor. Buck kicked the padded cushion off a bar stool and placed it under his head.
“If you go back out there, be careful,” the cop said, turning to his side, a small burst of coughing shaking his fragile frame. “It’s not just the dogs. Shit, if it was just them—”
Elizabeth knelt beside him. “What else do we need to be careful about?”
He was out. She tried tapping his hot cheeks but couldn’t rouse him.
Daniel put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “He even admitted he doesn’t know everything. There has to be someone out there who knows what happened.”
A single tear leaked from the corner of her eye. Tilting her head, she wiped it on her husband’s hand as they watched the sick cop sleep.
Suddenly, Miguel said, “Mom, where’s Max?
63
Slipping outside had been easier than he thought it would be. His parents were so into that weird guy, they hadn’t looked his way. He’d even been able to lift a gun out of the bag that Buck had brought.
His logic was simple. They had to leave the bar, sooner rather than later. Rey was sick, maybe even dying. Everyone could see that, even if they didn’t want to admit it. Dakota was in even worse shape.
If they were going to resume walking, they had to make sure that whole insanity with the dogs wouldn’t happen again. Max had watched the survivors run behind the apartment building. Back outside, he could kind of hear them, grunting and growling.
He’d proven he could protect his family and friends. Now what he needed to do was catch the rest of those dogs when they weren’t looking and finish them off. That way, they could safely get back on the road.
He ran across the street, angling between two stalled cars.
It smelled like rain. Looking up, he saw massive gray clouds moving in. It seemed like it had rained a lot since the day they ran into the shelter. What had happened that was so powerful, it could even alter the weather?
Dashing to the front of the apartment building, he paused with his back against the brick façade. Looking to his left, he saw the empty store that sold auto parts. His father used to take him there when he was just a little kid and let him choose an air freshener for the car while he bought motor oil and air filters. The place had been empty a long time. It was no longer alone in its state of abandonment.
Taking a deep breath, Max turned the corner, stealthily making his way down the alley. His friend from sixth grade, Dana Marone, had lived in this building. They had played in the little courtyard out back when they were in third grade. It wasn’t much, just a square plot of grass alongside a tomato garden the super, a Russian man they called Mountain, planted every year.
He stopped at the corner to the courtyard. Yes, the dogs were definitely there. Their smell alone gave them away. It was wet dog plus raw, rancid meat times ten—a stomach-churning combination.
Max poked his head around the corner. His mouth dropped open.
The dogs—
there were four now—greedily pulled their share of meat from a strange-looking pile. Long, spaghetti-like strips of flesh and tendon stretched from their muzzles to the pile, snapping when pulled too far. The dogs hungrily gobbled up the crimson strips of carnage.
The pile itself consisted of several bodies—human bodies. Max saw bloody drag marks leading to the mound of rancid meat.
Holy shit! They must be finding dead people in unlocked houses or on the street and bringing them here.
Max felt all the bravado bleed from him in a torrent.
An upturned hand, the fingers curled, lay by his feet. Worse still, the hand was small and delicate, like a toddler’s.
Staring at the hand with revulsion, he felt something staring right back at him. He looked up and over to the gathered remains.
The dogs met his gaze, muzzles dripping with blood and torn muscle.
64
Buck had to restrain Daniel from running out of the bar unarmed. If Max had slipped outside, he couldn’t have gone far, but those damn dogs were still out there.
“Dan, take this,” he said, handing him the shotgun. “Just hold up a second.”
He tore open the canvas bag he’d stuffed under Dakota’s cart, blindly searching for what he should have had on him in the first place. Something cold and metallic slid into his palm. He stuffed it into his pocket.
“Okay, let’s go,” Buck said. “Alexiana, stay here and keep watch at the door.”
“You be careful,” she said, jogging to take her position.
He was damn proud of her. Back in the shelter, when the days seemed to go on forever and the whole not-knowing-what-awaited-them felt like an impending biopsy result, he wondered if she had the mettle to face a world that might be forever changed. She was smart as hell and physically strong, but she’d experienced very little hardship in her life. So far, she’d proved she could handle anything that was thrown at them, and it was a boatload of high strangeness.
Maybe all of his worrying about everyone had been for nothing. Alexiana and the Padillas, even Dakota, were tougher than a cheap, overcooked steak.
Daniel kicked the door open, revealing an overcast sky. They had to hurdle over the ring of dead dogs.
“Max! Where are you? Max!” Daniel shouted.
Taking his rifle from his shoulder, Buck joined in. “Hey, Max, say something if you can hear us!”
There was no sense worrying about keeping a low profile. If the cop was right, there were very few people left to hear them, and they were probably too sick to respond.
If more dogs or even rats were around, they’d smell them well before they’d hear them shouting for the boy.
Daniel jogged up the street a bit, calling out for his son. Buck stayed close to the bar’s entrance, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of life.
“Where the hell could he have gone?” Daniel said. His face was flush with desperate concern and a hint of anger.
“Maybe he’s still in the bar. He might have gone downstairs to the kitchen.”
Buck kept waiting for Alexiana or Liz to open the door and tell them they’d found him. He looked up at the massive clouds. It was going to start pouring any minute now. He shouted as loud as he could. “Max! Max!”
He froze when he heard a dog howl, then another, and another.
Daniel ran back to him, his shotgun aimed at the apartment building. “It’s coming from back there,” he said. “Do you think—”
Buck shook his head. “No, Max is fine.”
Another dog let out an eardrum-thrumming wail. It was the sound of an animal on the hunt, or hurt, or both.
Reaching into his pocket, Buck motioned to Daniel to follow him. If there were more dogs around, there was no sense waiting for them to attack again. No, this time, they had to be on the offensive.
He hoped like hell that the kid was down in that kitchen, scrounging up something to eat. This was no place for a fourteen-year-old, no matter how big and strong he’d become.
A shadowy movement caught his eyes in the deepening gloom. He said to Daniel, “Don’t shoot. Just put your finger on the trigger guard for now.”
He could hear his neighbor breathing heavy, see the barrel of the shotgun waver in his unsteady hands. Daniel didn’t reply.
Buck squinted his eyes, trying to make out the slow-moving shadow in the alley across the street. One of the dogs, a small one by the sound of it, tore off with a long series of angry yips.
They were getting closer.
Something shifted in the alley.
Daniel fired his shotgun. Bits of brick exploded.
They heard a pained scream.
Max!
65
Daniel’s heart and stomach plummeted to the floor.
I shot my son!
Max fell from the shadows, landing hard on his back, clutching his arm. Daniel ran to him, his pulse whooshing, making it impossible to hear what Buck was shouting to him.
He slid on the concrete like a baseball player stealing a base, stopping just shy of his wounded son. There was blood on the sidewalk and seeping from between Max’s fingers.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Daniel moaned, careful not to move Max too hard. He cradled his head in his lap. Max’s eyes were shut tight, grimacing with pain.
“My arm burns,” he said.
“Let’s get you back inside.”
Daniel wanted to say he was sorry, to plead for forgiveness, but the words formed a logjam in his throat. His whole body trembled as he attempted to get Max to his feet. The boy let out a sharp cry of pain when Daniel accidentally grabbed his wounded arm.
“Wait,” Max said.
“We have to get you off the street.”
Just focus on getting him inside so Elizabeth can take care of him. She’ll know what to do. She worked in the ER in St. Joe’s. They had gunshot wounds all the time.
Struggling, Max managed to stand. Buck pulled up beside him. Max pointed down the alley.
“The dogs,” he said. “They . . . they’re eating people.”
The first canine, a bloody Labrador, crept from the alley, its head low, spooked by Daniel’s shotgun blast.
“How many are there?” Buck asked.
“Four . . . no, wait, a few more came from another yard. Seven, maybe,” Max sputtered.
A couple more heads peeked out from behind the Lab.
Buck picked up Max’s bat and said, “Both of you get to the bar. I’ve got this.”
He fired a shot at the dogs, missing, but it was enough to get them to scrabble back into the alley. Daniel saw the grenade in the man’s hand. He pulled the pin and tossed it in the alley.
“Run!” Buck shouted.
Daniel looped his arm around Max’s waist and sprinted to the bar. Despite being shot, Max was able to hop over the bodies, but he slipped on something pink and gray that had spilled from one of the dogs. They both went down, cracking their tailbones.
Buck came barreling over the dogs, skidding into the closed door of the bar.
Before Daniel could move, there was a tremendous explosion. The pressure made his ears pop, followed by a high-pitched whine and an unnatural, muffled silence.
66
Alexiana threw the door open the moment she heard the blast. It shook the foundation of the tavern, knocking glasses from their perch above the bar. She pushed her shoulder into the door and was met by heavy resistance. Something was blocking it.
What the hell had just happened? Was the bombing starting all over again? Was whoever had done this not happy with just under a one hundred percent casualty rate?
She shoved the door again, and this time it flew right open.
Relief flooded her when she saw Buck helping Daniel and Max to their feet. It was short-lived once she saw the blood running down Max’s arm. She stepped aside so they could get him into the tavern and shut the door behind them.
Rey yelled, “What happened? Is everyone all right?”
“Just took care of the rest of the dogs,�
�� Buck replied. “Lizzy, we’re going to need your help.”
Elizabeth ran to Max.
“Oh, my baby. Oh, my baby,” she cried, over and over.
Her hands fluttered over Max. Daniel helped him into the booth next to Rey.
“Did Max get bit?” Rey said, standing on wobbly legs, leaning over the table to take his brother’s hand.
Max’s face was pale as seashells. His eyes were glassy and he was shivering. Alexiana grabbed a blanket from one of the shopping carts and handed it to Daniel, who gingerly placed it over his shoulders.
“I was shot,” Max said, grimacing when Elizabeth touched the arm that was bleeding. The fabric of the light sweat jacket he was wearing was torn by his upper arm.
“Do you think you can take your jacket off?” his mother asked him.
He nodded.
It was obvious he was biting back tears while his mother and father helped get it off him. She pulled back the sleeve of his shirt.
“I need a light,” she said.
Alexiana handed her one of the lanterns, then rushed to get the medical kit.
If Max had been shot, that could only mean he’d been shot by Buck or Daniel. She felt like she was going to be sick. Unless there were other survivors in the area, armed and dangerous.
“Just look at me, bro,” Rey said. “Let Ma take care of your arm.”
Even Dakota had managed to get up, sidling next to Rey. Elizabeth turned the lantern as high as it would go, studying the wound while pressing a thick gauze pad under the wound to catch the flow of blood.
“Alexiana, can you hand me the peroxide?” she said. Before she tipped the bottle over the nasty gash in his arm, she warned him, “This is really going to sting. I need you to stay still and let it do its job.”
She poured the peroxide on his arm. The wound instantly turned white with fizzing foam. Max reared his head back, banging the table with his good fist. Elizabeth let the peroxide soak in for a minute, then cleaned it off gently with another pad.
“The good news is, this is no bullet wound. I just need to clean out the bits of rock and we can apply pressure to stop the bleeding. You’re lucky. I don’t think you’ll need stitches.”
