by Joshua Guess
I sat three plates down—one on the floor for Nikola, and full of raw beef mixed with a little rice and greens—and took a seat next to Jem on the couch.
“Thanks,” he said, then began wolfing down his sandwich with the ravenous greed of a college freshman home for the weekend.
“No problem. If you make any jokes about me making you a sandwich, though, I’m going to punch you in the dick so hard you’ll have to piss sitting down.”
“Fair enough,” Jem agreed through a mouthful of food.
I clicked on the television, and any hope I had of this nightmare being local was destroyed.
It was on every channel, and I mean every one. The only time I’d seen that before was on 9/11, when even cartoons on distant networks were preempted because of what happened in New York. If anything, the saturation of news coverage in front of me was more complete. There were no commercials, no breaks, nothing for a hundred channels but worried reporters navigating increasingly dangerous situations.
We settled on CNN, which was being helmed nonstop by a serious-faced Anderson Cooper.
“Reports are varied,” Cooper said, his voice booming through my living room. “There are few consistent elements to the chaos, but some facts are clear. This event is worldwide, and appears to have begun simultaneously. The cause is still unknown, though CDC satellite offices are reporting that it doesn’t seem to be the result of a chemical attack. Hundreds of sources are telling us that the people affected by this event seem to all have had some kind of injury, usually moderate. Surgical patients, athletes with concussions, victims of car accidents, anyone who has endured trauma.”
“Want to put money on Jeff having a concussion?” I murmured. Jem grunted.
Cooper continued. “If you are in a safe place, remain there. We can’t stress that enough. The attackers seem to be killing indiscriminately, but we have reports that some survivors have begun to display the same aggressive behaviors.”
Jem sat frozen beside me for a solid five seconds, and I started to think he had a seizure when he bolted to his feet and fished his phone out of his pocket. I turned down the volume as he paced the living room, hurriedly punching in a number and jamming it against his ear.
Panic gave way to relief, Jem stopping in the middle of the room as he said, “Mom?” I started to rise from the couch, intending to give him some privacy, but he noticed and waved me down.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner,” Jem said. “I didn’t realize it was everywhere. Me? No, I’m fine. No. No, I would be out there doing my job, but…yeah, it’s that bad here. Nothing left for me to do.”
This went on for a few minutes, the desperate need of a mother and child to assure each other they were safe. Half a lifetime separated me from the last time I had spoken to my mother, and I hadn’t regretted a day of it. Examining my response to Jem’s conversation with his mom, I realized I still didn’t.
“Yeah, I’m with someone right now,” Jem continued. “She saved my ass, mom, so yeah. I can trust her. What? No, we are not dating. Are you seriously asking about my love life right now?”
I darted to the kitchen to grab some beers, stifling laughter.
“Yeah, I gotta go, mom. Stay home, and stay safe. Call me if anything happens. Anything at all.”
I stepped back into the living room and handed Jem a beer. “Parents okay, then?”
He took a deep swig, then wiped his mouth. “Yeah. They’re retired. Got a little place north of here out in the woods. Not actually all that far from the town they live in, but far enough for now. Kind of like this place, actually.”
“Glad to hear it,” I said, meaning it. We hadn’t known each past a few hours, but they had been educational hours. Who a person is when the shit hits the fan can tell you more than years of friendship. Jem seemed like a good guy, and it kindled some hope in my heart to know some people were avoiding the hell spreading across the planet.
“What about you?” Jem asked, the question inevitable. “Don’t you want to call anyone?”
I got the impression his detective’s instincts kicked in halfway through asking, because the second part sort of trailed off. I think he realized I probably would have done so already, had I anyone worth calling.
“No one,” I answered. “I’ve got a couple gamer friends in town, but we’re not close. I hope they’re okay, but calling them won’t change if they are or not. Jeff was the only person I would have worried about before we broke up.”
He nodded, taking another long pull on his beer, but didn’t say anything else. The calm demeanor from my interview was stripped away completely, and the guy exhaled curiosity in an almost visible cloud. My response had a practiced sound, a tone he was doubtless familiar with given his line of work, and that was because it was practiced. People have parents; it’s unavoidable. Which means when you don’t talk about yours, it’s an anomaly. It begs further investigation.
Jem didn’t ask. I didn’t tell. Though, I was considering it.
“Well,” I said, deciding to change the subject. “Since things are clearly way worse than we expected, we should probably discuss what we’re going to do next.”
Eyebrows lowered, Jem grunted. “What can we do? Other than wait for the military or something. I mean, it’s not like there are many other options, not if this is everywhere.”
“If the military is going to deal with this, it might take a while,” I said. “Considering how widespread the infection is—you know, everywhere—then it logically follows that they can only do so much at once. One option is that we hunker down and wait for things outside to calm a bit. You’re welcome to crash here if you want.”
He looked around the trailer doubtfully. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but this place is one story, and there are windows. Trailers aren’t exactly fortresses. So what are the other options?”
“Practical ones? Not many. But we could certainly try our luck somewhere else if you want. Sticking together gives us someone to watch our backs, and I tend to think more people is better for that reason. Finding other survivors should be a priority, I think, but we’d have to prepare ourselves.” I flashed teeth at him in a wild grin. “You’re right about the trailer, but wrong about this not being a good base to work from.”
Frowning, Jem said, “What do you mean?”
I stood and gestured for him to follow me.
“Let me show you why I bought this shitty piece of land.”
6
We stood over the gaping maw of a dark hole in the floor of my bedroom, revealed after I moved the bed and carpet.
“I swear it’s not a torture dungeon,” I said. Then added, “But don’t get your hopes up, because it’s not a sex dungeon, either.”
Lights flickered on as we descended the steps, triggered by infrared sensors I had installed. It probably came off as a dramatic affectation, but reality was more boring—as reality tends to be.
“Put in the sensors there,” I said, waving at the little black boxes nestled where the edges of the steps met the walls, “because I fell down these goddamn steps half a dozen times in the dark. The light switch is at the bottom.”
The stairs were wide and ended at a concrete landing almost twenty feet below ground level. I gestured at the cavernous space lit by dozens of LED lights in various configurations. “Welcome to the Lair,” I said, waving an arm.
“Holy crap,” Jem said.
The Lair—and yes, I called it that, and only God can judge me—was a little hard to take in with one look. The ceiling was fourteen feet high, and aside from concrete pylons holding up the reinforced roof, it was one large space.
“You like it?”
Jem walked into the room and stood ten feet below one of the hanging lights that were part of the original structure. “How big is this thing? What is it, for that matter? And how did no one know it was here?”
I walked past him, nodding for him to follow. “Let me give you the tour. There’s not a lot to see, despite its size. Lemm
e see…it’s a hundred feet on a side, ten thousand square feet. Which is a little above average for a communications bunker, but not even close to how big they can get. Some of the larger ones are close to fifty thousand square feet. As for how no one knew it was here? Lots of people knew, at least back in the sixties. Most just forgot once technology made these things obsolete. When this one went up for government auction, I bought it.”
Jem put a hand on my arm, and we stopped. “What’s a communications bunker? I’m sorry, but I’m having a hard time coping with the idea of you—of anyone—having a fucking bunker under a trailer.”
“History lesson!” I said. “Yay! Well, back during the cold war, the federal government contracted one of the larger phone companies to create these big bunkers to protect our ability to communicate in the event of a nuclear attack. Which meant hardening them with thick walls and heavy construction, as well as installing backup systems like generators, water wells, and cisterns. Once fiber-optics replaced copper lines, they started to shut down and sell off the bunkers.”
I pointed to a dim corner where tall, white objects rested. “That’s the generator there on the left. It’s capable of putting out a lot of power. Uses propane, and the tank is full. The water purification system is next to it, with access to the storage tank.” I turned and pointed to a ten by ten recess in another wall. “That’s a lift which opens to the surface. There’s an empty tool shed standing over it. The utility access points are inside the shed, which is where power can be drawn from the bunker and propane added to the system. Oh, and water can be pumped either direction.”
I smiled at Jem.
He gaped at me. “Who are you? How could you afford this? I mean, your job couldn’t possibly pay this well, could it?”
“I…had a large windfall when I turned eighteen,” I said. “I saved a good chunk of it, and yes, my job can pay extremely well. Or did, I guess. Not likely I’ll be doing any more research, considering. The land and bunker together only cost about what a really nice house would, and I financed half of it. Then I had the original entrance torn down and remodeled so I could put my trailer over it.”
Jem turned in place, starting to take in the odd assortment of things arrayed around the quarter of the space nearest the entrance we had used. He walked over to a wall lined with a long work bench and festooned with specialty tools. Trailing his hand along it, he stopped when the bench did. Beyond it were the sort of mesh-front lockers you saw in football locker rooms. Which was where I’d snagged them; auctions were sort of my thing.
“Is this combat armor in here?”
“In that one, yeah,” I said. “A present from a company that supplies police and military gear. I edited forty different manuals for them at half rate. Got done a week ahead of schedule.” I cleared my throat. “I don’t want you thinking I’m a criminal, okay? Sometimes I worked out deals with authors for a tiny percentage of sales, and sometimes those authors had major hits. I love what I do, and it adds up. That’s how I could afford all this.”
Jem turned to me, his expression awed. He realized what a goofy look that was on his face and reeled it in, shaking his head. “This is incredible. All this from editing?”
“Eh, not exactly. I mean, sure, my work ethic helped, but I got the jobs I did because I built a reputation for myself. I built entire databases of real-world, practical information for companies for a fraction of what it would cost them to do in-house.” I waved at the racks and boxes of items surrounding us. “A lot of this is stuff I tested for gun companies, tech companies, pretty much anyone with a need for third-party testing but absolute secrecy. Got to keep all of it, too.”
“Okay,” Jem said. “I’m sold. I think we can work with this.” He met my eyes, and his face grew serious. “I need to know why, though. What drove you to put down all that money and effort?”
“Besides having my own underground base, which is completely fucking awesome?” I asked. He didn’t crack a smile, and I sighed. “Okay, fair question. You know how some people compensate for bad shit happening by becoming defensive?”
Jem nodded.
“Well, look at this place and you get an idea what my childhood was like.”
We decided to sleep on it. It was late afternoon by the time Jem and I finished our lasagna and by then every drop of adrenaline had taken its toll on our systems. Though it went unspoken, neither of us wanted to go out and get stuck somewhere as dangerous as town when dark was on its way.
Jem’s assessment of the trailer was only partially correct; the standard units weren’t built to handle a lot of punishment. Fortunately my paranoia worked out well in this situation, because every window in the place was double-thick, heavy-duty Plexiglas set in steel frames. They could be popped out from the inside with ease, but were nearly impossible to break from the exterior. Found that out when I locked my keys inside.
The walls were stock, which meant the place might as well have been made of paper when it came to bullets, but my worries centered on zombies rather than people with guns just then. Besides, Jem had reloaded his service weapon with ammunition I very helpfully provided, and I was toting around a Remington 870 loaded with buckshot and a Glock 23 on my hip. Better safe than cannibalized, I always say.
I set Jem up in one of the bedrooms on the far side of the trailer, which was slightly weird. Not just because someone new was in my house overnight, but also due to the realization that in the years I’d lived in it, I only visited that side of the house a few times a year at most.
My bedroom is on the far left of the place when you come in the front door. The kitchen sits between my room and the living room, where the door is located, with a master bath squeezed in there. The other two rooms and the bathroom they share just sort of…came with the place. I furnished them and occasionally stored things in them, but otherwise they weren’t a part of my daily life.
Now they were being used for the first time, and that got me thinking.
The world is a lot like that. We occupy the comfortable space around us, mold it and shape it to fit, to the point where going beyond becomes unthinkable. Not in a way we find terrifying, usually, but strictly by the definition of the word. We just don’t think about it. We don’t stretch ourselves beyond our borders, choosing what we know and understand instead of exploring and taking risks.
Not necessarily a bad thing, but the idea struck me as hard as it did because I knew without doubt that my time inside my own bubble was done. It was no longer a question of comfort or happiness, but of survival. For now the power was on, the water flowed, and things were only terrible instead of catastrophic, but the writing was on the wall.
I sat on the couch with Nikola’s bulk curled up beside me, watching the news with the volume low. I could hear Jem snoring through the open door of his room, not a loud noise but weirdly reassuring. Having someone there with me helped keep my brain firmly anchored to reality. Otherwise it would be easy to imagine the entire shitshow of a day had been the eventual breakdown my old therapist had predicted.
I didn’t plan to fall asleep sitting up, but that’s exactly what happened. One minute I was watching a rotating cast of frightened reporters giving updates, the next sunlight was streaming weakly through my covered windows.
Nik had decided to use me as a heat source, draping himself across my body, which had slumped into an awkward slant across the couch. I wiped a little drool off my face.
I was in the middle of slowly disentangling myself from the dog when a harsh, sharp blow rocked the window directly in front of me. I cried out as Nik startled awake, his claws raking me across the legs and belly. His deafening barks knocked away the cobwebs of sleep and woke Jem up. I could tell because he slid into the room clad in suit pants, socks, and a thin undershirt a few seconds later, gun at the ready.
“What’s happening?” he asked, eyes red and lined with dark circles.
I rose to my feet slowly, picking up the shotgun. “We might have company outside. Something just smac
ked the window really hard.”
“Is there a back door? Maybe I can circle around.”
I jerked my head toward the kitchen. “You can get out through there, but I’d rather us stick together. One of us can open the door while the other covers it.”
He agreed, and since I had the shotgun he elected to open the door.
The good news was that nothing was on the deck. The bad news was? The yard was dotted with a handful of zombies. They didn’t look dead at all, just crazy as hell and ready to prove it, but that was more than enough justification for me.
“You want to go out there, don’t you?” Jem asked.
I nodded. “I’m hoping gunfire won’t draw more of them here, but we can’t just let them box us in. We both saw what was happening on TV yesterday. You know how they’re being dealt with.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, grim as death itself. “Just, you know, what if they can be helped? What if this is only temporary?”
I sighed. “So far no one thinks that’s the case. Whatever is happening to their brains is doing a lot of damage, or so the TV tells me. But even if the reports are wrong, we can’t afford hesitation. Not if we want to live.”
The zombies had taken notice of the open door, maybe even heard our voices. Their attention was now firmly aimed in our direction.
“Fine,” Jem said unhappily. “Let’s get this over with.”
We went through the storm door and into the yard, two scared humans and a furious dog.
7
To be absolutely honest, I wasn’t as sanguine about killing as I let on. Maybe it was something I’d get used to—itself a frightening thought—but intellectually I knew there was no good outcome to letting hungry cannibals pile up around my house. Fortunately my deck was a couple feet off the ground and had rails, which made the only angle of attack the steps.
