Scavengers

by Nate Southard

  “Thanks. I’m Chris, by the way.”

  “Brian,” the man said as he sat across from him. “And who’s this little lady?”

  “I’m Danielle.” She sounded groggy, and her eyes barely opened.

  “Well hi, Danielle. We’re gonna get you fixed up, okay?” He set the mug on the nightstand and opened his hand to reveal a pair of aspirin. “First off, I need you to take these.”

  Chris caught her frightened look, and he gave her shoulder a pat. “It’s okay, honey. He’s trying to help.”

  “Okay.” She took the aspirin from the man and put them in her mouth. He handed her the water and she took a sip, grimaced as she swallowed it all down.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it, honey?”

  She lazily shook her head.

  Chris noticed his hands closing into fists and opening again. Closing and opening, opening and closing. Over and over again, and he couldn’t stop. A fire swept through his belly and mind, burning down one rational thought after another, leaving the charred remains of panic in its wake. He felt helpless, hopeless, and it made him want to scream. His daughter was laying here sick, maybe dying. He had to do something, and peroxide wasn’t the fucking answer.

  “Where’s the closest hospital?”

  The man shook his head as he wiped at Danielle’s arm with the rag. “Too far. It would take forty-five minutes if the roads are clear, but we were listening to the police scanner earlier. State boys say the place is just choked with people. A real clusterfuck. Sorry, Danielle. Don’t use that word, okay? Brian’s a Grade A potty mouth.”

  Chris smiled as his little girl managed a giggle and said, “You’re funny.”

  “Wakka wakka.”

  Chris reached past Brian and grabbed the bottle of peroxide. He twisted off the cap and poured a healthy amount over Danielle’s bite. It fizzed up at once, sounding disturbingly like bacon on a griddle.

  “Bubbles,” she said, and her smile grew a little. Her face looked tired, though.

  “Yep,” he told his daughter. “That’s because you’re made out of soda pop.”

  “No, I’m not.” Her eyes slipped shut again.

  “C’mon, honey. Stay awake for Daddy.” A sob cracked the last syllable, but Danielle opened her eyes.

  “I’m tired.”

  “I know. I just want to see those beautiful blue eyes.”

  She grinned, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. An iron band wrapped around his heart and squeezed. He felt short of breath, and he knew it wasn’t fatigue settling in on him.

  Brian picked up the coffee mug.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  The man scooped out a spoonful of white glop. “Baking soda and water. It’ll take out some of the sting.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He leaned in close and whispered. “And if we’re really lucky, it’ll take out some of the infection.”

  “Right.”

  Brian offered the mug and spoon to him. “You want to do it? Just smear a good coating on the bite.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” He took the items, and the man got up and left the room. Chris dropped a good dollop onto the swollen teeth marks and used the back of the spoon to spread it. Danielle groaned at his touch, but he continued. If it could help, he’d have to take the chance despite any protest. He gave the wound a second coat just to be sure.

  Danielle didn’t appear to notice. Her breathing was even and calm, but he could tell there was some labor to it. He wondered if it would get better or simply grow weaker and weaker. Though he didn’t want to think about it, he couldn’t help himself. The thoughts swirled through his brain like a dry wind, stoking a fire that left panic in its wake.

  He set the mug back on the nightstand and took Danielle’s hand in his own. It felt so tiny and frail.

  “Please be okay,” he whispered. “Pretty please.”

  He should maybe call Maggie. Then again, he didn’t even know if the phone lines were still up and running. And what was she going to do if he told her what had happened? She lived up in Cleveland now-nearly a seven hour drive-and he suspected the planes weren’t flying today.

  Someone cleared his throat. He turned to see Brian standing in the doorway. The man nodded toward the hall, beckoning him to follow. He looked from the man to Danielle. Her breathing still looked strong.

  He let go of her hand and stood up from the bed, bent to give her a tiny kiss on the forehead. Then, he walked into the hallway. Brian waited there, leaning against the wall.

  The other two stood at the hallway’s mouth. He noticed the blond with glasses wore a T-shirt that featured a cartoon monkey covered with bandages. Lettering beneath the cartoon said POINTY OBJECTS MAKE ME SAD. Cute. He’d probably chuckle if he had a single reason to smile.

  “Why don’t you come into the dining room,” Brian said. “I’ll get you some coffee.”

  “I’d rather stay-”

  “She’ll need the rest. Don’t worry. Just let her get some sleep. You have some brew and catch your breath. You gotta be freaked.”

  “Yeah. More than a little I guess.”

  He followed Brian out of the hall. The man pointed to Rummy and said, “This is Dave. The dumb-looking one is Joe.”

  “Thanks, asshole,” Joe said. “Really appreciate the intro.”

  “Don’t wear shitty T-shirts.”

  “Don’t go getting jealous of my T-shirt.”

  “Like I would.”

  Dave didn’t say anything, just gave him a wave.

  “Yeah,” Chris said. “I guess it’s good to meet you. Fucking glad there was somebody here, that’s for damn sure. Don’t know what the hell I would’ve done otherwise.”

  Brian busied himself at a coffee maker settled on a counter choked with dirty dishes. “We were gonna make a day of it at the firing range today. Then the reports started coming in.”

  A firing range? Chris eyed the assortment of weapons on the table. Jesus Christ, these guys probably had enough firepower to run a small army. He hoped like hell he hadn’t stumbled across a bunch of militia assholes. Dealing with lunatics was the last thing he needed today.

  “Here,” Brian said, slipping a mug of steaming coffee into his hand. “Right outta the pot.”

  “Thanks.” He took the cup and sat down in the closest chair he could find. His fingers felt numb around the mug, and when he took a sip he couldn’t taste a damn thing. He felt suddenly tired, and he knew his adrenaline had left him. Maybe the coffee would help keep him awake.

  “You mentioned something about reports. What are they saying? I caught a little on the radio, but I turned it off because I didn’t want to scare Danielle.”

  Brian took a sip from his own mug. “If they know much, they’re not saying anything. Right now it’s just the basics, or what they think are the basics.”

  “Like what?”

  “It’s a plague,” Joe said. “I mean, that’s what the radio says. It’s killing people and then making them come back.”

  “What? You’re joking.”

  “What bit your girl, a raccoon?”

  He sat there staring at Joe for a second, wondering if the first comment had just been a kneejerk reaction or something more sinister. Then he thought about the woman who had bitten Danielle, the ragged bleeding hole of her throat. Could they be right?

  “Okay.”

  “So what was it?” Brian asked.

  He told them. They listened in silence. Dave shook his head once, and that appeared to be all the reaction the rummy planned to give him.

  “The head thing tracks,” Brian said once he’d finished. “They’re saying that on the radio.”

  “What about CDC, anything like that? They have some idea what this is? If it’s rabies or something like that, maybe they can treat it.”

  “They don’t know,” Joe offered. “If it was rabies, it would already be too late. Once you show symptoms, there’s nothing they can do.”

  “Are you serious? Rab
ies has been around forever. You’re telling me they honestly can’t treat it?”

  Dave nodded. “My brother died from rabies. Caught it off a bat.”

  “Oh. Um, sorry.” Worry settled into his gut, and none of it involved the fact that the people he’d run to for help were a bunch of hicks with a small arsenal and personal knowledge of a rabies fatality. Infection? Not treatable? Death? How many of those applied to his daughter? What could he do to stop it? He wanted the answers almost as much as he feared them.

  Brian crossed the kitchen and pulled out a chair, sat down next to him. Concern stitched the man’s face, and he stared into his coffee like he wanted to hide in it.

  “How long ago was she bit?”

  “Shit, I’m not sure. Maybe it was forty minutes ago? Twenty? I’m not doing the best job keeping track of time right about now.”

  “Right. Yeah, that figures.”

  Joe and Dave nodded like some mute version of a chorus.

  He finished his coffee and set it on the table next to a hunting rifle. “I should get back there.” He started to stand, but Brian’s hand appeared on his arm.

  “Just sit another minute, okay?”

  He eased back into his chair, but his nerves began jangled again. Something was wrong here.

  “Go on.”

  “Okay,” Brian said. “Look, it’s pretty obvious your little girl has something in her system, right? We can agree on that?”

  He felt his hands tighten into fists. “Yes?”

  “I just… I’m not a doctor, y’know? And it’s obviously something new we’re dealing with. It’s serious, though. Even if we did get her to a doctor, I don’t think it would help. They’re saying… on the news networks they’re saying this thing has one hundred percent mortality, and the ones who die from the bites…”

  “Right.”

  “Look, man. I don’t want to say it, and I can only imagine how much it sucks for you. I mean, it sucks like hell for me, and I just met her. None of us like it.”

  More nodding from Joe and Dave.

  “I don’t want you having any false hope, though. You look like a nice enough guy.”

  “Yeah?”

  Brian looked away for a second, and Chris could see the gears turning in the guy’s head, trying to come up with some way, any way, to soften the blow.

  “It’s… look, what she got from that bite is fatal, man. I’m sorry, but that’s just a fact. But she’s gonna wake up again, and she won’t be your daughter. I mean, she will be, but she’s still gonna be dead. She’ll try to kill you. She’ll try to kill anybody she sees.”

  He watched Brian’s eyes. Kindness and sadness warred in them, and he knew this man wasn’t trying to give him an ultimatum.

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Yeah.” Brian took a deep breath, his entire body rising and falling. “So if you want, one of us will do it.”

  He stared at the floor as something like a boulder settled into his gut. The room felt cold, empty. Darkness swirled around the corner of his mind. These men couldn’t be serious. Not in a million years could they mean this shit.

  “It’s for the best,” Joe said.

  “Is it?” he asked. “Is it really, or is that what you redneck fucks want to believe so you can use my little girl as target practice?”

  “Hey. I know-”

  “You know shit, trash. You know jack and shit in that fucking order. Do you have any idea what you’re asking me right now? Huh? Does it make a fucking lick of sense to you? You’re offering to shoot my daughter in the head! Fuck you! Seriously, fuck you up your hillbilly ass.”

  Brian held up a hand like it was some great fucking gesture. “Buddy, I’m sorry. I told you I know it sucks. We can’t let her change, though. Okay, I let you into my home because you look like a good guy, but I can’t let one of those infected things in here to slaughter me and my friends.”

  “Then I’ll fucking leave! I’ll take her with me.”

  “We’re trying to help,” Joe said.

  “I don’t want that kind of help, asshole!”

  Brian shook his head. Chris could see the regret and pity on the man’s face, and it made him want to grab one of the guns off the table and start blasting.

  “I’m sorry,” Brian said. “I really am.”

  “I don’t fucking care.” He stood, kicking the chair to the floor in the same motion. “I’m going. All of you stay the hell out of my way before I kick the fucking piss out of you.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Guys, grab him.”

  He hesitated an instant, wondering if he’d really heard the man correctly, and then Joe and Dave leaped at him. He tried to dodge, but they were far too close. Their arms wrapped around him, and he found himself astonished at their strength.

  He tried to scream, but they wrestled him to the floor, and one of them shoved a cloth into his mouth. The taste of gun oil coated his tongue, and he gagged. The thought that he might suffocate crackled through his brain. Between the rag and the arms wrapped around his chest like iron bands, he couldn’t draw any air.

  Brian stepped toward the table. He held an automatic pistol in one fist. “I’m really sorry, Chris. I know you don’t believe it, but there you go.”

  He used his tongue to shove the rag out of his mouth. Then, he turned his head to the side and sunk his teeth into Dave’s hand. The man screamed and let go, and he scrambled free of Joe’s grip. He scurried toward Brian, but then Dave shoved him to the ground. A knee appeared in the small of his back, pressing down with the weight of a boulder.

  “Go do it,” Dave said.

  Chris screamed as one of the men punched him in the back of the skull.

  “That’s for biting me.”

  He didn’t care anymore. He screamed again and again, thrashing beneath the knee.

  “I’ll kill all you hillbilly fuckers! Hear me! Every last one of you! I’ll make it fucking-”

  A gunshot split the air, and his breath disappeared.

  Brian entered the room a moment later, tears in his eyes.

  “Sorry.”

  He screamed until he passed out.

  ————————————

  Chris straightened up and walked deeper into the stockroom. He struck a match. The tiny flame didn’t provide much light, but it gave him enough to explore the area.

  The shelves surrounding him contained next to nothing. A few rows of cans and dried goods caught his eye. A box of Rice-A-Roni looked like it might have some potential. The rest of the place was barren, though. Millwood, it appeared, was fucked.

  He shrugged. What did he care? Morris had shown him all he needed to know. The rednecks living in Millwood weren’t any different from the bastards who’d murdered Danielle. Let them rot, every last one of them. Let them grow good and desperate and hungry, and then have the killbillies swarm in to finish them.

  He rounded the last row of shelves, and something caught his eye. One step closer and realized he wasn’t imagining things. It was a beer logo. Through some little stroke of magic, the bastards from Rundberg hadn’t scrounged all the beer. It was probably warm, but what the fuck did he care? He could still get drunk off it, and that was the only thing that mattered.

  He approached the stack of beer cases and tore open one. He grabbed a can and popped the top, guzzled half the beer in a single pull. Rough stuff, but he wasn’t some pussy like the rednecks thought. He could handle his shit with the best of them.

  In the next moment, he fished out a smoke and jabbed it into his lips, lit it. A smoke and a beer. Good stuff. He sat down on the cases and enjoyed himself again.

  After a moment, he began to think of what he’d done to Brian and his buddies. Maybe he’d do the same to Morris.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Morris lowered the Ford’s tailgate. His eyes had adjusted to the dark just enough so he could see. He couldn’t make out great detail or anything; everything had become shapes floating in
the black. Jeremy’s body was easy enough to find, though. Even with all the blood stains, enough of the sheet remained white to signal him like a searchlight.

  As he reached out and took hold of the dead boy, he thought maybe he should apologize to Stevenson. Maybe the prick needed to learn to shut his mouth once in a while, but did the man deserve the beating he’d given him? He didn’t know. He had to admit the day hadn’t done wonders for his thinking. Everything felt red and raw, and his temper had begun to spike like the lines on a polygraph.

  He decided to deal with Stevenson later. Right now he had to get the truck’s bed ready to hold supplies. He pulled Jeremy’s body to the tailgate and then scooped it up in his arms. The boy felt remarkably heavy for a person his size. He carried the corpse maybe ten feet from the truck and laid it down beside Eric. His wounded shoulder thanked him.

  “Sorry, you two.” He knew their deaths hadn’t been his fault, but the thought provided no comfort. They’d died on his watch, and he didn’t like it. It had happened too many times since the world fell apart.

  ————————————

  He stood outside Carol’s office. The door was shut. Several furrows had been dug into the wood.

  He rapped his knuckles on the door. Each knock was deafening in the silent hall.

  No answer.

  He knocked again, leaned against the door. “Carol? It’s me. It’s safe out here. Open the door, baby.”

  He waited, his forehead against the cool wood. Each breath expanded time by hours, stretching toward infinity. He closed his eyes and fought to keep some kind of faith in his heart. She’d answer the door any second now. She’d smile and ask what had taken him so long.

  Why wasn’t she opening the door?

  “Come on, Carol. Please open the door.”

  Another long stretch of silence greeted him. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt tears sting them. His body went rigid, and his lips pulled back from his clenched teeth. She had to open the door. There was no way she could be dead, not already. He’d come as fast as he could. She had to be here somewhere, scared and waiting, hoping he’d show.