Infected

by V. A. Brandon

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Marie glanced up, startled, then smiled. “I am cleaning the living room.”

  Amy rolled her eyes. “Yes, I can see that, but the question is why? We’re leaving this place soon.”

  “I am bored,” Marie replied, shrugging. “Also, there is broken glass near the window. Walter might get a glass piece in his paw.”

  Amy shook her head in disbelief. “Your priorities are a bit out of whack, you know that? If I had fallen off a balcony, I’d be resting my sprained ankle right now.”

  With a smile, Marie leaned over to caress the pooch. “I am protecting him for Benson.” She glanced at Amy, her dark eyes shiny. “The boy is with strangers, and his father is gone. How lonely he must feel! But Walter is like family to him.” She straightened and continued sweeping the floor. “I must make sure to bring the dog to Benson in one piece.”

  She must really love that kid, Amy thought as she watched the Korean woman hobble across the room. She wouldn’t be surprised if the Korean couple adopted Benson in the near future. They would make great parents, especially Marie.

  Outside, the station wagon drove along the driveway and went out the gates. Marie looked up with a puzzled expression. “Is Justin going somewhere?”

  “Justin and your husband, actually,” Amy elaborated. “We couldn’t find Patrick, so they’re going out to search for him.”

  Marie stilled. “Patrick is missing? He is not in the woods?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Marie closed her eyes and leaned against the wall for support. “This is my fault.”

  “Your fault?” Amy repeated, incredulous. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not responsible for any of this.”

  “If Patrick slept in here last night, he would not be missing.”

  “And if Patrick hadn’t sexually assaulted you, he would have slept in here last night, and he wouldn’t be missing,” Amy pointed out. “He’s a grown man who’s responsible for his own actions. You’re not at fault here.”

  “Okay,” Marie whispered, but the troubled look in her eyes belied her answer.

  Amy reached out and grabbed the makeshift broom from Marie’s hand. “I’ll finish sweeping the floor. Now go and rest that foot of yours before it gets worse.”

  “Thank you, Amy,” Marie said softly. “You are a good friend.” She gathered Walter into her arms, hobbled over to her blanket, and settled in. The pooch licked her face as she laughed quietly and patted his rump.

  After sweeping the broken glass into one corner of the room, Amy took a moment to study Marie. The woman was slumped against the wall, her head lolling to the side. She was napping. As for the incorrigible pooch, he was resting his head on her thigh, his big eyes darting upward to glance at Amy.

  “Stay there and be quiet,” she whispered as she tiptoed past them. When Walter’s head popped up in interest, Amy pointed a stern finger at him and repeated the command. The lazy pooch blew air out of his nostrils and laid his furry head down again, suddenly dismissive of the female human standing before him.

  She smiled to herself, mildly amused by the dog’s antics. But the smile soon disappeared as she crept up the grand staircase and headed toward the last room in the hallway, the room where she and Marie had hidden only the night before.

  ***

  A small part of Amy wondered why she was doing this as she stepped around the broken door and went inside the bedroom. The place was a frightful mess. Not only that, it gave her the creeps, thinking about how the Runner had smashed through the doors and cornered them on the balcony.

  But there was a niggling thought in the back of her mind that just wouldn’t go away.

  So she continued along her path, striding into the walk-in closet and entering the bathroom en suite until she reached the open French doors. She slowly reached out, pulled the doors toward her, and closed them.

  And her gaze fell on the faint, narrow blood streaks that had dried on the glass panes.

  Last night, the Runner had run its fingers down the glass, causing a squeaking noise that, even now, sent a shiver down Amy’s spine. She hadn’t thought much about it then, as fear had ruled above all else. But with daylight and relative safety by her side, her mind was remembering small details that had gone unnoticed before.

  After some hesitance, Amy ran a finger down the glass door, applying some pressure on it.

  Nothing happened.

  She brought her finger to her mouth and sucked on it. Then, she ran her finger down the glass again, applying the same amount of pressure as before.

  Squeeeeak.

  The Runner’s fingers had been wet with blood when it had cornered them. But whose blood?

  A small voice in the back of her mind offered up an answer, but Amy ruthlessly pushed it back down.

  Not yet. I need more proof.

  Pushing the French doors open, she stepped into the balcony and looked over the balustrade. She stared at the dead Runner below, its limbs sprawled in every direction. Daniel must have returned here sometime during the night to retrieve his fire poker and push the body off. She bit her lip, indecisive. Before she could change her mind, she hurried out of the bedroom, went down the staircase, and aimed straight for the kitchen, where the back door was. Taking care to remain quiet, she pushed the door and stepped out into a tangled spread of overgrown grass.

  Seconds later, Amy stood over the dead Runner, staring at the body in revulsion. It was lying facedown. She drew in a deep breath, stalling the inevitable. When she felt ready, she pushed a foot beneath the body and flipped the Runner over.

  The first thing she noticed was the dark-red, gaping hole between its eyes. A close second was the horrific stench. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she crouched down and examined the Runner in closer detail, her gaze roving over its face, neck, chest, abdomen, arms, and hands.

  The front part of the Runner’s shirt was drenched in blood. But it wasn’t brown, like old blood; in fact, the deep crimson color – still slightly sticky – was a sign that the Runner had eaten during the night.

  Weak, Amy stepped back and leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling boneless. She recalled the dream she’d had the night before, of Ms. Wentworth screaming as she fell off the balcony. But it hadn’t been her screams that had woken her up.

  There had been another scream. A real one. And that was what had startled her awake.

  Either a poor, lost person wandering on the road had stumbled across the path of the Runners, or . . .

  She shook her head frantically. No. She would not follow that train of thought. The only proof she had was that the Runner had recently eaten. Justin and Daniel were out there searching for Patrick, and chances were, they would return with him. There was no need to jump to conclusions yet, not until they had conducted a full search.

  Her gaze landed on the dead Runner once more, and her revulsion returned, along with a small measure of pity. Who had he once been? Was his family looking for him, or had they all become infected on the same day? Had he suffered, or had he turned quickly?

  So many questions. Zero answers.

  Releasing a gusty sigh, Amy entered the kitchen and tiptoed into the living room, grabbing her folded blanket on the way. She returned outside and placed the blanket over the Runner, taking extra care to cover the face. She told herself that she was doing this for the man it had once been; but the truth was, its rotting eyes and blood-soaked clothes were deeply unsettling, and she could no longer bear to look at it.

  Chapter 7

  An hour later, Marie woke up, groaning. Walter instantly got up and wagged his tail, releasing a soft whine.

  “How do you feel?” Amy asked, watching her carefully.

  Marie laughed, then groaned again. “My body feels sore. I think resting is not good for me.” Rubbing her bleary eyes, she asked, “Are Justin and my husband back?”

  “No, not yet. They may take a while.” Amy’s stomach gave a low rumble. “It’s close to
lunchtime. You want something to eat?”

  Walter barked in anticipation, causing Marie to nod in response.

  Being as it would be their last day on the estate, the two women decided to have a decent meal that would be both filling and fun. Amy warmed up two cans of clam chowder as Marie spread Nutella on crackers. When Walter whined for a treat, Marie tossed him several bone-shaped biscuits instead.

  “Chocolate is bad for you, Walter,” she warned the dog. Walter gazed up at her, looking utterly betrayed, before carrying his doggy treats to the far corner of the room. He turned his back to them as he demolished the biscuits.

  Meanwhile, Amy and Marie crushed crackers into their chowder and ate two bowls each. Between mouthfuls, they chattered about inane matters, which soon drifted to life before the infection.

  “What did you do in Korea?” Amy asked, curious. If she were to guess, she’d say something in the performing arts, due to her dancer’s physique.

  “I worked as an illustrator,” Marie replied, scooping another spoonful of chowder into her mouth. She swallowed, then added, “I illustrated children’s books.”

  “Huh. Interesting. Sounds like it was fun.”

  “What about you, Amy?”

  Amy shrugged. “I graduated from college and worked as a sales assistant. I hated it, but what can you do? Rent and bills have to be paid, right?”

  “You are still very young,” Marie said with an encouraging smile. “After this infection is over, you can do what you really want.”

  Marie looked no older than Amy, yet here she was, doling out advice. When Amy grumbled this out, the Korean woman giggled in response.

  “Amy, I am thirty-two years old.”

  “What!” Impossible. How could that be? Amy stared at her friend, trying to spot faint lines on her clear face. There were none.

  “Why do you stare like that? It makes me uncomfortable.”

  “It’s a miracle, that’s why. Or excellent genes.”

  Marie snorted softly. “Hardly. You will have good skin too if you stay away from the sun and drink lots of water.”

  “Why don’t you have children?” As soon as Amy blurted the question out, she knew she’d made a mistake.

  Instantly, Marie’s face shut down. The two women stared at each other as heavy silence fell upon them. Silence stretched into minutes.

  Finally, Marie broke the tension. “I am unable to have children,” she said, looking away. “I have always wanted them.”

  No wonder she’d taken such a maternal liking to Benson. Amy felt horrible for putting the Korean woman on the spot like that.

  “I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “That was incredibly rude of me.”

  “It is okay, Amy. Anyway, let us finish the chowder. It is getting cold.”

  They continued eating their meal, but the mood had shifted noticeably. The previous carefree atmosphere was no longer there.

  ***

  Amy crouched down at the edge of the stream and cleaned out several empty plastic bottles. After filling them to the brim with fresh water, she capped the tops and carefully placed them into a backpack. They had about five unopened bottles of mineral water in one of the boxes, but it was always good to have extra, just in case.

  Slinging the straps over her shoulders, she walked along the stream, listening to the sounds of water trickling over rocks and insects buzzing among the trees. She cringed as she recalled her earlier faux pas. Luckily, Marie was a kind and understanding woman who didn’t hold grudges. As soon as they’d finished their meal, she’d been in good spirits once more.

  Amy’s thoughts strayed to Justin and Daniel and she frowned. They should be back soon. She hurried out of the woods, feeling uneasy about leaving Marie alone for too long. Knowing her, she was probably hobbling around the room again, doing some menial task. The woman just couldn’t sit still.

  When she reached the mansion, soft noises stopped her in her tracks. She turned around, narrowing her eyes. An animal, perhaps? The unkempt grass was tall enough to hide scurrying beasties. She hesitated, then headed toward the back of the mansion, where the dead Runner was. What she saw stopped her in her tracks again.

  The blanket had been removed and tossed several paces away. Upon closer inspection, she saw that there were huge bite wounds all over the Runner’s face. Was this the work of hungry animals? Rubbing the gooseflesh sprouting over her arms, she entered through the kitchen door and called out Marie’s name.

  “What is it, Amy?” she asked, hobbling to a stop. She’d been exercising her ankle again.

  Confused, Amy pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “Did you go outside by any chance?”

  Marie shook her head. “No, I have not. Why do you ask?”

  This was getting stranger by the second. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, but something felt wrong. The problem was, she couldn’t put her finger on why.

  The blanket, a small voice whispered. It looked like a person yanked it off.

  Slowly, she put her backpack on the floor when there was a soft thud at the front door. A short pause, then the thud sounded again.

  “Justin and my husband are back!” Marie said happily, hobbling toward the foyer.

  “The door’s unlocked. Just come in!” Amy shouted.

  The thud came again.

  “Maybe Patrick is with them,” Marie added. “I hope he is okay.”

  To Amy’s surprise, Walter started growling and ran to the foyer. His barks turned vicious as he scratched at the door.

  “Bad dog!” Marie shouted. “What are you doing?” She bent down and pushed him away, but he returned to the door, snarling and scratching like an animal possessed.

  Amy stood there, trying to think in the middle of all the commotion. It couldn’t be Justin and Daniel – there hadn’t been sounds of an approaching car on the driveway.

  Her thoughts returned to the Runner outside.

  She was certain that the blanket had been removed by a person. Also, some of the bite wounds had what looked like human teeth marks. A sane person would never do that. Which meant another Runner had recently tried to feed on it, and the Runner was on their grounds right now, if not right at the mansion.

  The thought of Runners cannibalizing one another made no sense to Amy, but it was enough to send chills down her spine.

  “Don’t!” she yelled, at the same time that the Korean woman opened the door.

  “Patrick!” Marie greeted, her voice filled with relief as she cracked open the door a little wider. Surprised, Amy stepped forward and craned her neck to see better.

  It was Patrick, looking the worse for wear. His face was still puffed, and there was a chunk of hair missing on his scalp. Worried about his condition, Amy quickly examined him, her gaze traveling down.

  And saw the huge, gaping hole in his abdomen, and the tattered remains of his innards dangling over his pants.

  Marie had seen them as well; her breaths started coming in hitched gasps as she trembled at the door. She tried to slam the door shut, but Patrick’s foot got in the way.

  “Close the door!” Amy cried, running over to help.

  “I am trying!” Marie pushed harder, but to no avail.

  Just as Amy reached the door, she looked up and locked eyes with Patrick.

  If anything happens to me out here, I’m holding you accountable.

  He stared back at her.

  And snarled.

  End of Part Three