by Wise, A. R.
He aimed at the door, waiting for another victim.
A child appeared, holding a revolver. It was Ronnie, the boy from Boise City. Red recognized the boy’s black-framed, cracked glasses.
Ronnie shot, and Red was certain he’d been hit. He fell to the side, and shot back in defense. Ronnie fell backward head first with enough force that his feet flew in the air. His glasses had been split at the bridge. The bullet had struck the boy between the eyes.
Red was on the floor, soaked in the blood of helpers and staring at a child’s body in the hall. He gasped, just now realizing he’d been holding his breath. Despair threatened to overwhelm him, but the need to survive kept him focused. There could still be more helpers in the house.
June moaned, and Red quickly got to his knees and moved closer to her. “It’s okay, Junie-babe. Just stay here. Keep quiet.” He looked at Allie’s corpse and said to June, “Go back to sleep. Everything’s fine.”
She shook her half-bandaged head, but didn’t open her eye. Beads of sweat covered her forehead, and her skin was deathly pale in spots where the purple infection hadn’t shaded it. The blood of helpers had soaked the sheets and splattered her face.
Every breath he took sounded like he was alone in a cavern as his hearing struggled to return. The ringing refused to subside, but it was now allowing other, nearby sounds in. He moved to the door, and briskly peeked into the hall, fearful a helper was lying in wait to take a shot. The hall was clear, so Red tiptoed over the corpse of Ronnie and towards the stairs. The front room was clear, and Red dared to hope he’d killed all of the helpers. He remained cautious, and moved to the kitchen.
A woman stood near the granite-topped island, a bloody knife in her hand. Red aimed, and she held up her hands as if in surrender. She said something, but Red couldn’t hear her. He kept the gun pointed at her.
She was young, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with auburn hair and wide, pretty blue eyes beset by tears. Red deciphered her words by reading her lips, “Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot.”
He fired, hitting her dead center in the chest and sending her waifish form careening back against the kitchen sink before falling fast and hard to the tile.
He continued his search, and once certain the helpers were dead, he returned upstairs. Ronnie’s blood dripped down the wooden staircase, creating a crimson waterfall at the top that eased to a slow drip by the third stair. Red stepped callously past the child, and began gathering the guns the helpers had brought.
June moaned again, and cringed as if in pain.
“It’s okay, babe. We’re going to be okay.”
She opened her eye, and Red swiftly moved to block her view of Allie’s body. A tear fell from June’s eye and mixed with the blood that dotted her face.
“I can help,” she said weakly and reached for him. She repeated the terrifying word, “Let me help you.”
Day Five – 1:51 pm
Red backed away, terrified and distraught. “No,” he shook his head. “Not you. Not you, June.”
She held her hand out to him, grasping at the air as if unable to tell how far he was. She struggled to speak, weary from the drugs. She opened and closed her hand like a beggar hoping for kindness. “Give me a gun. I can help.” Her eyelid slowly closed.
“Are you one of them?”
She struggled to stay awake. It was a losing battle. She flopped back down, taken by the drugs.
“June,” he said without daring to step closer. “Are you infected? June!”
She was unconscious again.
“Fuck!” He screamed out in frustration. “What do I do?” Porter joined him, leaving bloody paw prints on the floor as he paced the room. The dog had vanished during the fray. Red had assumed he’d been hiding, but the way the dog favored his side hinted at injury. Red knelt to console the dog, and search for a wound. There was no visible wound, but Porter was acting as if he’d been hurt. “Did one of them kick you, bud?”
The dog leaned his head into Red’s hand, appreciating the consoling attention.
“What would Porter do?” asked Red as he thought of his lost brother. He considered his options, and then said, “He wouldn’t leave June. That’s for sure.”
Red put the assault rifle down, and lifted June into his arms. He struggled with her dead weight, and tried not to slip in the blood as he made his way down the stairs and to the back door that’d been kicked in. He hurried to the squad car parked beside the farmhouse, and put June in the back seat. Porter followed slowly.
There were other cars parked here now, nearly blocking the squad car in. Red searched for any sign of other helpers, but saw none. He returned to the house to gather supplies, weapons, and medicine, and packed the back of the squad car before leaving.
“We’re going to be okay,” said Red to the dog in the passenger seat. He started the car.
It wasn’t worth the risk to drive through Boise City. Instead, he found a dirt road that led east. After following the road for a bit, he drove through a field to meet another county road that would eventually lead him back to where US-385 met US-412. June moaned in pain as she bounced on the hard, plastic back seat.
“We’re getting back to a smoother road,” said Red as he neared the end of the field that met up at the intersection of the two state roads. This wasn’t the path he’d originally intended to take, but it would do for now. He could stop later to try and plan a new route through Oklahoma and Texas. For now, he needed to stay out of sight.
There was nothing scenic about the view from US-385. The most dramatic change in landscape came as they passed a series of center pivot irrigation farms. If viewed from above, these fields would appear as pale green, perfect circles dotting an otherwise brown canvas. From Red’s viewpoint, it looked like flat waves of dying vegetation – thirsty plants wilting in the heat after suffering less than a week without water, days from dead – like everything else.
June started to speak, but then vomited instead.
“You okay?” he asked as he leaned forward. He was protected from her by the wire partition between the front and back, but he didn’t want to risk her being able to poke her fingers through to claw at him. If she’d been infected, he knew she’d stop at nothing to ‘help’ him as well.
“You’ve got to stop the car,” she said after wiping her mouth.
“I can’t, honey. We’ve got to keep moving.”
“I’m going to be sick.”
The stench of her vomit quickly filled the car. “You’re already sick. Just throw up on the floor.”
“Please pull over.”
“No.”
He watched her through the rearview as she glanced around. She looked groggy, ill, and in pain. She focused on the passenger seat where Porter sat. A confused look emerged on her face. She asked, “Where’s Allie?”
Red had to lie. “She’s with her family.”
“What?” she asked, confounded.
“June, give me a minute. Okay? Let me concentrate on getting us out of here.”
“Why? Are we in trouble?”
Red looked at the empty road behind them. The dust he’d kicked up on the dirt road had bloomed into a fading, brown fog. There was no sign of helpers on their trail.
“We’re going to be okay,” he said, and slowed a bit. After breathing a sigh of relief, he asked, “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Is Allie okay?”
“She’s fine,” he said, worried about upsetting June. “What’s the last thing that you remember?”
She thought about it, and said, “I remember a farm house. Allie was there, but you weren’t. Then you were, and you were…” She had trouble putting her thoughts together. “There was shooting. Wasn’t there? What happened?”
“Is that all you remember?”
“Everything’s a…” she waved her hand in the air, as if her gesticulations had taken on a mind of their own. “It’s all fuzzy.”
Red concocted a lie to ease June’s mind. “That was Al
lie’s uncle’s farm. We took her there, but we had to fight off some helpers.”
“Her uncle?”
Red nodded. “Yep. Nice guy. A prepper, like Porter. He gave us some food and guns as a thank you for keeping Allie safe.”
“Really?” Her brow furrowed, and she gazed out the window. “I don’t… I don’t remember any of that.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” said Red. “I went out with Allie’s uncle to do some work on the farm, and you must’ve gotten into the pain killers. You damn near over dosed. Scared me to death.”
“Why’re we…” She looked around, and then settled her eyes on Red’s through the rear view. “Why’d we leave?”
“We’re back on the road, headed to Texas.”
June stayed quiet for a while, and Red assumed she’d fallen back to sleep. After a prolonged silence, she asked, “Are you lying?”
“Lying? About what?”
“About Allie. About her uncle, and the farm.”
“No, I’m not lying. Wow, you really don’t remember?” He laughed off her concern. “No more morphine for you, babe.”
There was another long pause. June sat quiet and contemplative in the back, her hands in her lap as she watched the desolate landscape pass, the mile markers ticking down to zero as they neared the border.
“There’s blood on your face,” she said.
Red looked in the mirror and saw a dot of splattered blood on his right cheek. He wiped at it, causing the drop to smear.
They passed a stone marker carved in the shape of Texas.
Day Five – 4:13 pm
Porter knew he was in trouble.
The caravan had been stopped long enough that the spot of sunlight beaming through the ceiling moved from the floor to the side, and began a fading journey up. Jeff occasionally passed the door outside, arguing as he went, but never stopped to speak with Porter.
Porter eavesdropped as Paulson insisted that they test the Red solution now. No waiting. Get it over with and report back. He made quick, declarative commands that Jeff argued against.
“There has to be a better way,” was Jeff’s frequent, pleading response.
Finally, Jeff gained headway by pointing out how they needed to know the strength of the Red Solution on a grander scale than a single subject.
“What’re you suggesting?” asked Paulson, his voice barely more than a whisper in the distance as Porter strained to listen through the holes Jeff had drilled in the back of the trailer.
“He’s a carrier now, just like the others. He’s no different. Why not let him loose and see what happens?” asked Jeff. Paulson must’ve nodded, because Jeff continued excitedly, “Any helpers he meets will get exposed to the solution.”
They walked away from the trailer, and drifted too far to hear.
The butt of a rifle slammed against the trailer’s door, over the hole Porter was beside. He fell back, rubbed his ear, and glared at the amused soldier peering in.
Porter made his way to the point of light, and sat in it. The beam touched his chest, warming the divot beneath his prominent Adam’s apple. The fading light traveled up to his chin, and then his nose as he waited. By the time it targeted his forehead, there was a crack of metal and then the strain of hinges as the rear door opened.
It was Jeff, and he held up a gas mask as if it were a prize. “Good news,” he said with a gleaming smile. “I just saved your life again.”
Porter didn’t reply, and stood stoic and silent with the coin-sized beam of light dying away on his forehead.
Jeff struggled to climb into the trailer, and was helped by another man. As he climbed up, he set down the gas mask and what looked like a small, oval mirror about the size of his hand. He harrumphed and dusted off his shirt, then picked the gas mask up before walking cautiously towards Porter, like a zookeeper approaching a sedated tiger, leery of a sudden, violent awakening. He left the mirror back at the edge, near the other scientist who watched intently. Porter thought the other man was Paulson, but wasn’t entirely sure. The man’s face was oddly both that of a friend and a stranger. Porter rubbed his eyes, assuming it was a trick of the tears.
“Porter?”
He looked at Jeff, but didn’t move.
“Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know what you did to me, but I’m not going to let you use me to infect other helpers.”
“You heard us?”
“Yeah, I heard, and if you think I’m going to kill innocent people, then you don’t know me that well.”
“I think I know you just fine.” Jeff said with a slowly rising smirk, a sign of smug confidence. “Or at least I know as much as I need to.” He feigned contemplation. “What were their names? Mary, Mark, and Anthony, right? Hiding in your father’s bunker in Gulfport, Texas.”
Porter tensed threateningly.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa big guy,” said Jeff. “Let’s keep this civil.”
“Don’t you dare threaten my family. Don’t you fucking dare.”
“I’m not the sort of man who threatens, Porter,” said Jeff. “And I’m not the sort of man who wants to be forced to do these sorts of things, but here we are. Desperate times, my dear man. Desperate times indeed.”
“Leave my family out of this.”
“That’s not what you want,” said Jeff. “Give me a minute to explain. Calm down and give me a goddamned minute. I’m not threatening your family. Quite the opposite, actually. You and I are the only chance they’ve got.”
Porter glared.
“Let me explain. The infection can’t be stopped without help,” said Jeff, his eyes wide behind his spectacles, his lip trembling as he took a cautious step closer. He spoke in a bitter whisper, “America lost. There’s nothing left to do but pick up the pieces. I’m the one…” He motioned behind him to the other parked vehicles and said, “We’re the ones who have to pick those pieces up. Not you. You’re on borrowed time, and if you’re not careful then your family will pay the price.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“Yes I am,” said Jeff. “You just don’t know the whole story yet. You can’t see it, just like you can’t read the back of that photo of yours. Porter, you’re dead no matter what. You’re a bomb, waiting to go off. Exploding right before our eyes. You’re a bomb, and bombs don’t make it through wars.”
“What does this have to do with my wife and kids?”
“It’s got everything to do with them. Without us, they don’t stand a chance. If they’re not dead already – if they’re not infected, then they’re living on borrowed time. Let me help you help them. Work with me, and I’ll give you the chance to get to them – to help them. Work against me, and…” He stopped, pursed his lips and raised his brow.
“And what?”
Jeff took a photo out of his pocket, and tossed it to Porter. The folded photograph spiraled through the air and then settled to the floor like a leaf. Porter picked up the photograph of his family, unfolded it, and felt a pang of agony at the sight of them.
“What do you see?”
“My family.”
“Turn it over.”
Porter felt like this was a trick of some sort, but he did as he was told. The back of the photo was blank.
“There’s nothing written there,” said Jeff.
“Do you know why?”
“You erased it.”
“No, Porter. There’s nothing written on the back of that picture because there never was anything written there. That photograph isn’t of you. It isn’t of your family. It’s of a different family here at the camp. The infection isn’t just robbing you of your ability to read. It’s stealing your facial recognition.”
Porter flipped the photograph over and looked at the faces of his children. “You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not. Here. See for yourself.” Jeff plucked a different photo from his pocket, and tossed it at Porter.
This time Porter caught the photo in midair, unfolded it, and looked at strange
rs. “This isn’t my family. This isn’t…”
“Yes it is, Porter.”
“No it’s not! That’s not Mary. That’s…” he was panicked now as he pointed at the man who was supposedly himself in the photo. “That’s not me.”
Jeff went to the back of the trailer and picked up the mirror. He returned, and held it up.
Porter saw his face, the same as the one in the photograph he was holding. “No. This is… It’s some sort of trick. You’re… What did you do to me? What did you…”
“Stop, Porter. Stop!”
Porter wanted to lunge for the scrawny man. He wanted to tear his head off and gouge out his eyes. He wanted to bleed him dry, but the shackles that tied his hands and feet kept him docile. The wire mask covering his mouth dripped with saliva and sweat, like a muzzle on a rabid dog.
“What did you do to me?”
“Calm down and I’ll explain.” Jeff waited until Porter eased. “The infection affects your mental recognition. You saw how it muddled words. The infection affects what’s called the Wernicke’s Area of the brain. It eats away at it, but it doesn’t stop there. It keeps moving, corrupting parts of the brain to change the way the infected person acts. It’s truly fascinating. We’ve never seen anything like it. The infection turns the body against itself in a way, and starts to corrupt your fight or flight responses. It works to turn you into a heartless killer – or, to be more accurate, it turns you into a heartless infector. That’s where The Red Solution comes in. After corrupting the Wernicke’s Area, the infection focuses on the temporal lobe, but The Red Solution comes in and accelerates the process. It’s not a cure at all.”
Jeff paused, and stared at Porter as if expecting a response that wouldn’t come. Eventually he continued, “That’s what you’re experiencing now. We injected you with small doses of an altered version of The Red Solution, because we wanted to understand how it works. We’ve been testing you, and others like you.”
“And?”
“It’s been enlightening,” said Jeff. “You’ve taught us a lot. We already knew some parts of how the infection worked. We knew that your perception of reality was being twisted. What you see isn’t controlled by just your eyes anymore. You’re picking up on other stimuli, and it’s reforming what you see. Things like smell, for instance. You pick up on subtle clues, and your brain manifests a new version of reality. That’s how the infected seem to know who else is already infected. But when we introduced The Red Solution into you, we saw a shift. Without the proper stimuli, your brain can’t make sense of what it’s seeing. You rely on other information, which leaves you susceptible to suggestion. It forces you to act on survival instincts that you might otherwise ignore. Fight or flight becomes fight, fight, fight. Love turns to hate.” He snapped his fingers, “Just like that. It doesn’t matter if the person you’re face to face with is your friend, your lover, your wife or your children. The infection demolishes all of that, but it doesn’t turn off your feelings – your memories. You still love your family, even if you can’t see them for who they are. I know that’s hard to comprehend, but the proof’s right there in your hands.”
