The Remaining - 01

by D. J. Molles

  Driving was out of the question for now. He would stick to cross-country hiking. And then there was the question of Jason and his whereabouts.

  Obviously, he had not been with Lee. As a police officer, he was probably one of the last to be able to run with his family. Lee saw four likely possibilities. Either Jason was already with his family, was trying to make his way to his family, was holed up in his house waiting for help, or he was dead.

  In any case, Lee’s objective remained the same. He folded the note carefully and placed it in his pants pocket. Attention back on the body splayed out on the welcome mat, Lee gingerly poked the body with the toe of his boot, not sure why he still felt that he would garner a response. They say the less distance there is between you and the person you kill, the more traumatizing it could be. In Iraq, he knew he’d killed people, but mostly it was shooting at muzzle flashes in windows. Only once did he gun a man down while clearing a house. In that instance, the man had been about twenty feet away, reaching for the AK next to him. Through the night vision device Lee had been wearing, the man had appeared expressionless, emotionless. Just a green specter.

  Barely even human.

  In the girl’s case he had looked her in the eye, as demented as those eyes might have been, and shot her at point blank range. Then he’d stood up and shot her again. Then he’d left her to wallow in a crazy rage as she tried to stab his door and eventually bled to death.

  He prayed to God for forgiveness, and refused to think about it anymore.

  When he was satisfied that the girl was dead, he stepped over her body and, with gloved hands, pulled her by the ankles off of his welcome mat to clear the doorway. He had first intended to pull her off the porch completely, but after yesterday’s surprise attack, he didn’t feel comfortable backing his way down the stairs. Besides that, it was still dark, and Lee wanted to check his perimeter before he left for the Petersons’ house.

  He pulled the girl as quietly as he could to the left of the door so she was out of the way. He would dispose of the body when he knew his perimeter was secure and it was light out. While dragging her he noticed rather detachedly that she’d defecated on herself, though he wasn’t sure whether this was during her death or whether the infected insane were unaware of their bowel movements.

  Loss of muscle control was a symptom of late-stage infection, however, she’d seemed quite in control of her muscles the previous day, and had even talked, though it was only one word. He felt that most likely, she was in the early stages of infection, and that self-defecation was a byproduct of her loss of sanity.

  Once he had her moved, he patted his leg, getting Tango’s attention. “Come on. Sneak.”

  They left the porch, taking the stairs very carefully this time. Every shadow held a ghost and every grass blade that blew in the soft breeze drew his attention. They made a circle around the house, checking all the nooks and crannies, and finding everything secure. Whoever the girl was, she had been there alone.

  Died alone. Covered in blood and shit.

  By the time Lee had checked the perimeter of his house, the horizon to the east was getting gray, and the cacophony of early-morning birds had begun. He also found himself sweating, and noted that it was already warm and humid out. Today was going to be a scorching North Carolina summer day. One of those “jungle days,” where you got more moisture than air in each breath.

  They’d completed a clockwise circle around the house, checking the garage and the crawl spaces underneath the house. Tango never alerted or growled. Just kept his head down and kept stalking along Lee’s side. Lee felt more secure with the dog there, and with his keen nose and guarding instincts, he would serve as an early warning of any human activity in the area—good or bad.

  Back where they started, at the northeastern corner of the house, Lee veered off towards the edge of his yard, where his once-manicured lawn turned abruptly into woods. Heading directly north for a little less than 200 meters would land him in the Petersons’ back yard.

  He moved slowly through the woods. The light of dawn on the gray trees gave everything a monochromatic look. Each new section of woods looked exactly like the last. The damp air and the dew covering the forest floor made movement quiet and limited the crunch of the leaves he stepped on. Aside from his own breath, rattling in the gas mask, the woods were silent.

  Finally, the woods opened up into a clearing.

  He was at the bottom of a steep hill, over the top of which he could just make out the roof-line of the Petersons’ house. To his left was a shallow gully with a shallow stream passing through it. Making his way through the woods, he felt that it was less and less likely that he would find anyone in the house. There was no reason for Jason to be there if his family was gone. He was a good guy, and a family man, and he wouldn’t let Marie and Stephanie sit in some FEMA camp alone. If he hadn’t made the evacuation, he’d be making his way across country to them.

  Still...

  He wanted to know that the Petersons had made it out. The thought of them in safety gave him a bit of hope, a positive feeling.

  He and Tango made their way up the hill. More of the house came into view as they gained elevation. Unsure who—or what—might be in or around the house, Lee approached with caution, using trees as cover and concealment as he got closer to the house. Between stands of trees, he ran at a half crouch, keeping his eyes on the shadows.

  He noted only one thing as he got closer: an upstairs light was on, causing a single window to glow with muted, yellow light.

  This meant a few things to Lee. He knew that the Petersons, not being survival- minded people, had not rigged their house for off-grid electricity as he had. If there was a light burning in the house, it meant that the grid was still up. He only assumed that with all the evacuations in the surrounding area, the power plant employees would have also left, but perhaps they had been replaced by the National Guard or perhaps the power plants were on an automated system.

  It wasn’t long into this thought that he noticed the light flicker. It was a candle. This told him something completely different. A candle did not burn indefinitely. If a candle was burning inside the house it meant that someone was there now, or had been there very recently. Jason, or a squatter?

  Lee still held firm to his opinion that Jason would not stick around when his family was elsewhere. Which meant someone was in the house that didn’t belong there. Lee considered how he would approach this situation.

  On the one hand, breaking and entering became less of a criminal act and more of a necessity during times of social collapse when finding shelter was tantamount to surviving the night.

  On the other hand, it was his friend’s house and he felt a responsibility to keep it secure until they returned. Who knew when the crisis would be over and people would be returning home? He wouldn’t want the Petersons finding their home and belongings ransacked and stolen in the name of some hobo’s “survival.”

  It was a gray area.

  He would have to feel the situation out. The squatters could be shitbags, using the house as a base to set up road blocks or store whatever they steal. Or it could be a family travelling on foot, trying to find a safe place to spend the night.

  Lee moved to the back of the house, Tango following at a trot. He kept his rifle trained on the windows, in case a lookout spotted them. The Aimpoint sight mounted on his M4 was dialed low so the red dot was not overpowering in the dim morning light.

  At the back of the house, he moved left towards a set of wooden stairs leading to a large back deck, lifted up on stilts. The house was built into the hill so that the ground floor when looking at the front was the second floor when looking at the back.

  The stairs creaked treacherously as Lee made his way up to the deck. He kept his eyes locked on the dark patio doors. They were sliding glass with no curtain covering them. Anyone inside was shrouded in the darkness and would see Lee long before he could see them. He moved quickly across the fatal funnel and posted on the le
ft side of the sliding- glass doors. Closer to the glass he could see inside.

  The doors led into the living room, which appeared mostly undisturbed. There was a TV, a coffee table with some magazines on it, two couches and a leather recliner that Lee could picture Jason sitting on every Sunday, watching football with a cold one in his hand. To the left of the room was a long hallway that led to the front door.

  He tested the patio doors and found them locked. Shit.

  He thought about his options. He could break the glass or try to find another entry point. Both had their risks. Whoever was in the house would almost definitely hear the glass break. Depending on how many were inside, and if they were armed or not, it could be a problem.

  Lee was about to move away from the doors when he noticed someone was lying on the couch. He had missed it at first because they were lying with their back to the door, and in the half-light, blended in with all the pillows lying there. It was a girl, young. He saw the dark, curly hair.

  Stephanie.

  Lee wanted to get her attention, but knew she would be scared and not recognize him in his gas mask. He made a quick decision and pulled the mask off, clipping one of the straps to a carabineer on his chest rig. He thumped the window with a gloved knuckle and whispered: “Steph! Steph!”

  She didn’t respond.

  He was about to knock again, when he saw a dark figure standing in the hallway, watching him.

  “Fuck,” he whispered and backed up a bit, bringing his rifle up.

  The figure wasn’t concerned with his rifle. It hobbled forward with an awkward gait. It seemed like its legs and arms were stiff. Twice it almost fell, but recovered. Clutched in its right hand was what Lee thought might be a meat cleaver.

  Stephanie still hadn’t moved. The concept hit him like a punch in the gut. Stephanie wasn’t sleeping. She was dead. And the lunatic with the meat cleaver was the one who had killed her. Lee stepped back another foot as the man inside hobbled around the kitchen counter and raised the meat cleaver as though he didn’t realize the glass door was between them. Who the fuck was this guy and why was he in the Petersons’ house? Lee had never killed anyone in anger before, but now it seemed like an easy thing to do.

  He lifted the rifle and put the red dot on the man’s chest, then pulled the trigger. The stillness of the morning was shattered, the bark of rifle-fire jabbed fiercely at Lee’s eardrums. The glass exploded inwards and through the shower of glittering shards, he saw the man still coming forward, meat cleaver raised.

  Lee’s brain sent the signal to his finger: Don’t stop!

  As Lee pulled the trigger repeatedly, watching the man’s chest lurch with each recoil, he saw the man’s demented eyes, saw his face, and for a split-second, thought he knew him. Then a round caught the man’s jaw and ripped it off, and the following round caved in the front of his skull.

  The body dropped face first into the broken glass, but was still twitching erratically. Then Lee realized he was still firing and pulled his finger off the trigger.

  Lee didn’t even look at Stephanie. In the back of his mind, he registered that she had not moved through the gunfire. He knew she was dead. Instead, his eyes were locked on the body lying before him. Something was wrong but in the moment he couldn’t think of it. He wanted to take the time to inspect the body, knew he had recognized that person, but also knew there could be other hostiles in the house.

  Lee moved quickly into the living room and surveyed the scene as detachedly as possible. After giving Stephanie a cursory glance, he saw that her throat had been cut and that she had been dead for some time. The stench of decay in the room was almost unbearable. In the kitchen, which he could see from where he stood in the living room, he observed another body. He immediately knew it was Marie. He moved in closer and looked at her face, confirming his fear. Though bloating and decay had robbed her of her kind and caring face, he knew it was her. Someone had hacked away most of her midsection. The kitchen was covered in blood spatter, obscenely reminding Lee of a Jackson Pollock painting.

  The wrongness of the man with the meat cleaver finally swam to the surface of his mind. The duty belt. He was wearing a patent-leather duty belt.

  Lee stepped over to the body, keeping himself angled towards the hallway that led to the rest of the house, in case any other attacker came at him. He pushed hard with his foot, rolling the body onto its back.

  Jason stared up at him with blank, dead eyes. Deep cuts scoured his face. Had he done that to himself? His hair had either fallen out in chunks, or he had ripped it out. What was left of his face to recognize him by was sunken and sallow. The whole bottom half of his face and neck was covered in dried blood stains. Like he had been eating the others.

  Lee knelt down and sat back on his heels. He waited for emotion to overcome him, but it didn’t. He knew this was just how his brain worked. He would feel it later, in the cold quiet of the night, as he was trying to sleep. The bad memories always waited until the water was calm before they floated back to the surface.

  He whispered into his closed fist, “What did you do, Jason?” Jason would never answer. Nor would his family. Tango stood at the door and chuffed, as though trying to get Lee’s attention. Lee gave Jason one last look and then stood. “Stay, Tango.” He didn’t want the dog walking through the broken glass. Chances were he’d be fine, but Lee didn’t have access to a vet or vet supplies if Tango got injured. Lee grabbed a throw blanket from over the top of the leather recliner that Jason would never use again. He tossed the blanket over the broken glass. “Come on,” he clicked his tongue.

  Lee didn’t want to search the house. He didn’t want to be anywhere near it anymore. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to leave. But he pressed on, feeling dazed. He still had a job to do. He had to clear this place. Marie and Stephanie deserved to be laid to rest. He could do that much for them.

  Tango walked carefully over the blanket. Lee led the way through the kitchen to the hallway. Tango was less interested in these bodies than he was in the girl lying on their front porch, but Lee told him to “leave it” anyway. He wasn’t sure whether Stephanie and Marie had been infected prior to being killed.

  He made his way down the hall, the morning light just illuminating family photos that hung on the walls. Lee took a recent one down. All three of them close, smiling. He didn’t hang the picture back up, but laid it on the ground, propped against the wall.

  He checked the living room, which was clear, and then headed up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, in the master bedroom, Lee found where Jason had been hiding, rotting in his insanity, his brain eaten away to only the most basic life functions. The candle Lee had seen flickering from outside still sat on a nightstand, burning with barely two inches of candle left jutting out of a pool of melted and re-hardened wax.

  The bed sheets were smeared in blood. Lee wasn’t sure whether it was from one of the girls or from the apparent self-inflicted wounds to Jason’s face. Lee steered clear of it.

  In the master bathroom, he discovered something else.

  On the large mirror over the double sinks, I’m sorry was written in blood, over and over. It was also written on the walls, and on the countertops. Lee thought that perhaps Jason had managed a moment of clarity amongst all the violent, insane urges that took the life of his family, and realized what he had done. Lee pictured him there, staring at his reflection in hatred, cutting his face with the meat cleaver and using the blood that seeped out to write his pathetic message on the walls. He wondered how long that moment of understanding had lasted before he slipped back into madness and was merely writing the words out of repetition, not comprehending what they meant or what he’d done.

  Lee left the bedroom, feeling light-headed. He checked on the bodies to make sure none had moved, which of course, they hadn’t. Then he made his way to the basement, and from there to the garage. He took a shovel and tossed it out the garage door into the backyard. He then went back upstairs. He took Stephanie first, crad
ling her very carefully in his arms, as though he didn’t want to wake her. If he held the head up so the chin nearly touched the chest, he could barely see the gaping neck wound.

  Even through the gas mask, the stench made him wretch several times. He laid her down in a flat spot in the backyard, just before the yard sloped off. He then took Marie’s body out, dragging this one by hooking his fingers under her arms. He laid her down next to her daughter.

  Then he stood there and thought for several long moments about whether or not to bury Jason with them. He must have come home before they left for the FEMA camp. It wouldn’t make sense for them to stick around once he’d come home, so he would have to have already been infected and symptomatic. He knew Jason worked 12-hour shifts, but perhaps, in the emergency, they had kept everyone on 24-hours. He either became infected a few days before somehow finding his way home, or he had been grossly exposed, causing the plague to metastasize faster and mentally crippling him far sooner than he had thought it would.

  Lee decided the plague was to blame, not the man.

  If there was a heaven, Jason was in it for the things he’d done in his life, not for the things he had done while his brain was halfway eaten away. He deserved to be buried next to his family. He had loved them both immensely, and Jason the man would not have been capable of harming them.

  Lee made his way back up to the house and knelt over the body of the man that had once been Jason. He noted that he was still in full uniform. Jason would have known he was infected, either through trauma resulting in gross exposure or due to the presence of symptoms. In either case, Lee felt that Jason had returned to see his family one last time before dying, not realizing that FURY was about to turn him against them.

  Lee went through the two front uniform pockets, finding a crumpled note. The handwriting was shaky at best, scrawled in black ink.

  If I am dead, please give this note to Marie and Stephanie Peterson at 110 Morrison Street. Steph and Marie, I was bitten in the arm by someone infected with the plague. This was earlier today and already I am showing symptoms. I tried to get home to see you both one last time, but I guess I didn’t make it. Please know that I love you both and if I knew that I would end up leaving you forever, I would have never left the house to go to work. I’m so sorry.