ARES Virus (Book 3): Phoenix Rising

by O'Brien, John

  The rain showers have moved out of the area, bringing a clear but chilly day. She puts her phone down, feeling boredom inching its way in. For the hundredth time, she turns on the television and flicks through the channels, but there’s nothing but ants dancing across the screen. She searches the house for Blu Ray discs, or even a player, but can’t find one anywhere. The excitement and fear she felt at the beginning of her journey to find help is slowly being tamped down by hours of boredom.

  While tromping through the house searching for something to do, Emily suddenly hears something outside. Thinking that the bad people have found her place of safety, her heart thumps solidly and her feet halt in mid-step. She slowly creeps toward the front window and peels back the drapes just enough to peek through.

  Across the still wet front yard and by the entrance to the driveway, a white four-door car sits on the highway, two people silhouetted in the front seat through the side window. The vehicle backs up and turns up the driveway.

  “Oh crap,” Emily mutters, panic setting in.

  She looks about the room, seeing her half-eaten meal and the fire in the stove, evidence of her being here. Closing the drapes, she races to her backpack and pulls out one of the knives she grabbed from the outdoor store. She has no idea how to use it, especially against two adults, but she doesn’t know any other action to take. If they come in, they’ll know for sure that someone is here.

  With her breath coming in pants and her heart beating wildly, she looks from the back door to the hallway and back again. Emily doesn’t know whether she should flee the house or run into the back and hide. She starts one way, then the other, unable to make up her mind. If she leaves the house, she’ll be out on her own again, scavenging in towns where there are bad people and sleeping under bridges. However, if she stays, the people could hurt her, or take her stuff. The stories her parents told her about people who take little kids enter her mind.

  They could be good people looking for help, she thinks, still turning one direction, then another.

  She hears the car motor up the driveway and come to a stop outside in the yard. One car door slams shut, followed almost a minute later by a second one. Instead of running out of the door, with her breath caught in her throat, she edges back to the curtains and peeks out. A man is helping a woman toward the front door, her weakness evident as she stumbles alongside. Closing the curtain, Emily grabs her pack and, as quietly as she can, dashes into the back bedroom. She can’t quite bring herself to be back in the open, especially with the colder weather coming on.

  Crouched in the corner of a closet, she faintly hears the front door creak open.

  “Hello?” a voice calls out.

  Emily remains quiet, tightly gripping the handle of her knife. Thoughts race through her mind, some taking hold for split seconds before others crowd in. She remembers the soldier from Pineville saying not to let yourself get trapped. She knows that’s exactly what she’s done.

  “Crap on a stick,” she mutters, remembering that she left her phone on the coffee table—more evidence that she is here.

  “Hello? Anyone here?” the voice again calls.

  Emily waits, her entire body quaking.

  “If there’s anyone here, we’re coming in. We don’t mean any harm.”

  Nearly as scared as she was at the outdoor store when the infected entered, Emily forces herself from the corner of the closet. Still tightly gripping the haft of the knife, she creeps toward the bedroom entrance. She looks back to the closet, then at the door, trying to imagine what’s happening on the other side.

  The front door creaks as it’s opened wider. With a shaky hand, she reaches for the bedroom knob, still unsure whether she should open or lock it. Grabbing hold, without really much thought, as if she’s merely watching someone else, she turns it and cracks it open. She hears a shuffling in the outer rooms. With short, panting breaths, she inches into the hall and, hugging the wall, she sneaks down its length.

  At the end of the corridor, she peeks around the corner. A man is standing in the living room, easing the woman with him onto the couch. She notes that he looks at the fire burning in the stove and the meal left on the table. Emily stands motionless, terrified, and unable to move forward or back.

  As if knowing that she’s watching him, the man turns quickly around, looking frantically around before settling his eyes on Emily: a diminutive figure standing at the end of the hall holding a knife. As they lock eyes, Emily gives an involuntary yelp.

  “Whoa,” the man says. “Easy now. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Emily freezes, saying nothing but shaking like a leaf inside. She’s only vaguely aware that she’s almost peed herself again.

  “Are you alone here?” the man asks.

  Emily stands a little straighter, but still filled with fear.

  “No…No, my dad will be here soon. He’s big and has a gun…a lot of them.”

  The man looks at her for a moment, then nods.

  “Do you mind if we wait for him here?”

  “I guess that’ll be OK. But, he’ll be mad if you try to take anything or…well, he’ll be mad,” Emily says, taking a step forward.

  “We aren’t going to take anything or hurt you. I promise. My name is Roger and this is my wife, Kelli.”

  The woman is lying back on the couch, her face pale and eyes so sunken that Emily thinks the woman must have makeup around them. The man’s wife moans a couple of times, but doesn’t say anything.

  “Is she sick?” Emily asks, without giving her name in return.

  “Yeah. She has a bad cold or flu. Is it okay if she lies down on the couch and if I use these blankets to cover her up?” Roger queries.

  “I guess so. Is she sick like the other people were sick?”

  “No, she just needs some rest,” Roger answers.

  “She looks sick like how the other people were before they became bad people,” Emily states.

  “She isn’t. How long before your dad gets here?”

  Emily backs up a step.

  “Soon. He stepped out back for a minute and will be back any second.”

  The man just looks at her. Emily feels that coming out of the closet was a mistake, but knows that she would have been found out anyway. Running out of the back door was her best option and she blew it. She could run now, but the man could easily catch her. Her options are limited. If she can get away, the man surely won’t chase her very far if it means leaving his sick wife. If he comes after her, that’s what she’ll do…she’ll bolt out the back door.

  “Okay. Do you have any water that I can give to my wife? We’d both be grateful,” Roger says.

  “The, uh, faucet in the kitchen still works,” Emily replies.

  Kelli moans a couple of times as Roger eases her prone on the couch. Covering her with the blankets tossed over the armrest, he heads toward the kitchen. Emily takes a couple of steps backward, her knife up, watching his every step. He vanishes into the kitchen and she hears the water running.

  Emily eyes the open front door.

  Now’s my chance. Go! she thinks, but her feet remain glued to the spot.

  Even though she’s terrified, Emily realizes that the man hasn’t tried to hurt her. She understands that the knife in her hand probably doesn’t scare him and he could easily have taken it from her if he wanted to. The faucet turns off and Roger walks back into the living room, Emily’s gaze following his every move.

  Roger holds Kelli’s head up and attempts to drip water into her mouth. She coughs, chokes, and sputters, the water dribbling out of her mouth and down her cheek.

  “Honey, you need to drink this,” Roger whispers, barely loud enough for Emily to hear the words.

  Emily relaxes a little as she watches the man try to pour water into his wife’s mouth.

  She really looks like she has the same sickness as the others, Emily thinks, taking a couple of steps into the front room.

  The man sets the drink on the table, making Emily think ab
out the many times her mom admonished her for putting a glass of milk on the wood rather than using a coaster. It’s ingrained into her so much that she nearly says something. The man lays a wet rag on his wife’s head, sighs, and then turns toward Emily.

  “Did you make this fire?” the man asks.

  “Yes,” Emily answers without thinking, her pride rushing to the forefront.

  “It’s a good fire,” the man says.

  Emily smiles.

  “Look, I know that you’re probably really scared right now. I promise you that I won’t hurt you. Did you know that I taught boys and girls about your age before the sickness hit everyone?” Roger says.

  “You were a teacher?” Emily questions.

  “I was. And, I know that you are probably alone. Am I right?” the man asks.

  Emily is silent, her fear returning in full force. She wants help and the man seems good, but to admit that she’s alone will make her more vulnerable. If the man knows that she doesn’t have a dad coming, he may just attack her. She doesn’t know the right thing to do.

  “Your dad isn’t coming, is he?”

  Emily timidly shakes her head, tears forming in her eyes.

  “I didn’t think so. I’m sorry. Is this your house?” the man asks.

  Emily shakes her head, still afraid to voice anything.

  “Did you live around here, then?”

  “I…I lived in Pineville, then with my aunt and uncle in Springfield,” Emily stutters.

  “Springfield. You came all that way here?”

  Emily nods.

  “That’s a long trip. On that bike on the porch?”

  Emily again nods, wiping away the tears on her cheeks and sniffles.

  “You are one brave girl. And you are living here, now?”

  “Ye…Yeah.”

  “Do you mind if we share it with you?”

  “I guess so. There’s another bedroom in the back,” Emily answers.

  “You can put that away if you’d like,” the man says, nodding toward the knife still in Emily’s hand.

  Sensing Emily’s hesitation, he adds, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

  Emily lowers the knife, then slowly walks to her pack and puts it back inside, nervously watching the man. He merely turns his attention back to his wife.

  * * * * * * *

  Farmhouse, miles south of Pineville

  October 13

  Emily again finds herself sitting on the couch, playing on her phone. Over the bleeps of the game, she hears the consistent thumps of the man chopping wood in the backyard. For a couple of hours each day, he’s been at it, stacking some of it inside.

  “It’s only going to get colder, and there will be days when we won’t want to go outside to get wood for the fire,” he had said.

  She remembers some of the cold winters with her parents, her excitement at seeing the first snowfalls and charging outside to play in them. There was the frustration at the door as her mom struggled to get her coat, gloves, and boots on.

  “I don’t need all of that, Mom,” she’d whined. “I’ll only go out for a little bit and come in if I start feeling cold.”

  Her mom ignored her pleas, pushing her arms into the heavy coat sleeves. Emily had felt restricted in all of the clothing her mom made her wear, like she could barely move. She’d wanted to run, kicking up flurries of snow, build snowballs, and roll up snowmen. With all of the clothing he mom forced her to wear, she’d worried that she’d easily fall down and never be able to get back up. Those logical statements of fact had also been ignored. However, all of it had been forgotten two steps out of the door as she raced through lawns and down to the creek with her friends.

  Emily’s initial fear of the man and his sick wife vaporized shortly after putting her knife away. The man was nice, fixing dinner most of the time. He was like her parents, though, and made her eat vegetables. She never saw his wife after he moved her to the other bedroom. The only indication she had that the woman was even there was when he took bowls of soup or broth into the back room, or when Emily heard moans through the closed door when she went back to her room. When he wasn’t cooking, chopping wood, or building a fire, the man spent most of his time back there with his wife. Aside from being forced to eat vegetables, it was better having them around. Emily didn’t feel so lonely.

  Sunlight streams though the window behind her, the rains having stayed away since they came rolling through a few days ago. The days have been noticeably colder, a prelude to snows on the horizon. There’s a certain security in her new home and she feels like it wouldn’t be a bad place to stay forever. The food stocks have diminished at a much quicker rate with more mouths, but the man doesn’t seem worried, so Emily doesn’t either.

  The man brings an armload of wood in and drops it near the stove. Emily asks if he needs help and he waves her off.

  “Nah, I have this, but thank you. It keeps my mind occupied.”

  “How’s she doing?” Emily asks.

  “Still sick, but I think she’s getting better. She kept down the soup last night and this morning. I think she’s over the hump,” the man answers. “Speaking of which, I should bring her another bowl.”

  The man smiles, then heads into the kitchen, returning a short time later holding a bowl with steam rising in wisps above the lip. Emily turns back to her game as the man heads down the hall.

  A shriek erupts from the back room, causing Emily to drop her phone and give a yelp. She hears scrambling and words she can’t make out, the man’s voice rising in volume. Emily hunkers into the couch, any scream sending her crawling inside of herself. Another scream rings out from the back room, the man’s voice becoming nearly frantic. She hears the soup bowl hit the floor and shatter, the spoon ringing out with metallic pings as it bounces across the hardwood flooring. Then, the sound of heavy scuffling followed by a heavy thump.

  “Nooooo…Kelli, what are you doing? Stoooooop!”

  The man screams loudly. Emily is frightened beyond the ability to move. The woman runs out of the hallway, fresh blood splashed across her mouth and cheeks, running down her chin to hit the floor in thick, lazy drops. She looks directly at Emily, who tries to push herself deeper into the couch, her heart beating wildly.

  In the depths of her mind, Emily knew that the woman was going to turn into one of the bad people. She shouldn’t have stayed, even though the house provided comfort. She knew it was only a matter of time. However, that thought is buried deeply beneath her terror. The woman screams and Emily feels a warm wetness, the odd thought that she’s going to die with wet pants cycling through her mind.

  She looks to the door, thinking to try and escape, but all she can do is press harder into the couch. The woman, her breath panting, turns her gaze and streaks into the kitchen, pounding against the door. Before Emily can move to make her escape, the woman returns, only glancing at Emily before running across the room to the front door.

  A scream from the hallway adds to the woman’s shrieks as she pounds on the door, trying to get out. The man, who was so nice, runs out of the back corridor, blood streaming from a wound on his cheek. He looks at his wife, then turns to run back down the hall. A blast of cold air sweeps across Emily. She turns just in time to see the woman run through the now open doorway.

  Rising to her knees, Emily watches as the woman runs past the window, circling around the house. The man returns and, completely ignoring Emily, runs from room to room searching for something, screaming when he doesn’t seem to find it.

  Tentatively, Emily crawls off the couch, inching toward the back room where her bag is kept. She secretly hopes that the two of them will run off, leaving her in peace. They don’t seem to be interested in her in the least, though the reason why escapes her. She slips on a smear of blood in the hallway, disgust momentarily overriding her overwhelming fear.

  In her room, she hurriedly changes and begins stuffing items into her pack. She’s barely able to breathe as she throws blankets, her sleeping b
ag, and other items onto the bed. The sound of the man continuing to run throughout the house, screaming at intervals, tells her that she needs to leave. The cans of food she had and bottles of water are still in her pack, along with other items she didn’t bother pulling out upon her arrival. The house had everything she needed, so why bother?

  The screams periodically rise and fall in volume as the woman runs around the house. Throwing on her pack, Emily grabs everything she can and peeks out into the hallway. She sees the man race by the hallway entrance, hearing his shrieks diminish slightly. Emily halts, thinking that the two may just run away. She hates having to leave the house, but there’s no way she can stay with two bad people, whether they hurt her or not.

  The shrieks continue, and Emily starts down the corridor, stepping around the puddle of blood with her boot mark streaking through the middle. She quickly darts over to the pile of wood near the stove, grabbing the hand axe leaning against the wall. At the front door, she looks for either of the two, but their screams indicate that they’re in the backyard. She dumps the items in her arms into the oversized baskets and pushes the three-wheeled bike off the porch.

  She glances once at the car, thinking of using it to get away, but she has no idea how to use the gears. She could probably steer it well enough to keep it on the road if she went slow enough, and may be able to press a little on the pedal, but she feels that she’d more than likely end up in a ditch and become really stranded. She pushes her bike past the vehicle.

  Used to the warmth of the woodstove, the cold air seems to clamp down around her body. Emily hastens down the bumpy, rutted driveway, the bike threatening to overturn with each embedded stone she runs over. The two bad people enter the front yard as Emily enters the highway. Emily hops onto her bike and begins furiously pedaling away, afraid that the bad people might change their minds and come after her.

  As she rolls down the road, she periodically looks over her shoulder, but doesn’t see any sign that the man and woman are following. She stops for a moment, putting on a coat and gloves to ease the chill. The empty fields to the side stretch out for long distances, but the hills ahead are much closer than when she started her journey.