Survive (Day 5)

by Wise, A. R.

  Porter looked at the photograph, and then back at Jeff.

  The old scientist smirked. “That’s not your family, and I’m not Jeff.” He put his hand to his chest and said, “I’m Arthur Paulson.”

  “Paulson?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” He took his glasses off and put them in his pocket.

  “Hello, Porter,” said the man outside of the truck. A man Porter now assumed was Jeff.

  “Right now, if we brought your wife and children in here and gave them a gun, you’d slaughter them without a second thought,” said Paulson. “If you saw them as a threat, you’d murder them. And if they weren’t a threat, you’d infect them. Even as they screamed for you to stop, and tried to tell you they were your family, you wouldn’t believe them. That’s what The Red Solution does. It will make you kill the ones you love without a second thought.”

  “No.” Porter’s refusal to believe him was more of a whimper than a declaration.

  “Yes. No matter what, your family is gone from your life. All you have left of them are memories. For all intents and purposes, they’re nothing but another face in the crowd. Another face you’d stab, or shoot, or murder without thinking twice. Imagine that, Porter. Imagine you finally reunite with your family, only to murder them as they beg you to stop. You’d never know the difference. Not without us, at least. Not without what we’re offering.”

  “You can cure me?”

  “No, Porter. There’s no cure.”

  “Then what’re you offering?”

  “A chance to make it to your family,” said Paulson. “And, hopefully, to recognize them.”

  Porter looked at the photograph – at the strangers including himself. “How?”

  “By setting you free.”

  “You want to set me free?” asked Porter with obvious distrust.

  Paulson nodded. “With the picture and the mirror. Hopefully by looking at your family and reminding yourself who they are, you can retrain yourself to recognize them. And then, if you’re lucky, you can make your way back to Gulfport to see them before the entire country is gassed with The Red Solution. If they’re still in Texas, you can tell them to get out of the country. Because if they don’t, and they’re exposed to The Red Solution, it’s going to affect their ability to recognize loved ones, just like it’s done to you. While we’re not certain how long the effect lasts on someone who’s not infected with the original virus, we do know it lasts long enough to cause severe mental trauma. Sort of like early onset dementia. It rots the brain – twists it up and degrades it. Anyone who comes in contact with The Red Solution will never be the same again. I’m sure you’d like to stop that from happening to your family.”

  “What do you get out of this? Why would you be willing to set me free?”

  “It’s a test,” said Paulson. “A test that we’ve only got a couple days to run. We’d rather not blanket the country with The Red Solution gas. If we can avoid it, we will, but we need to know if our plan will work.”

  “What plan?” asked Porter.

  “We’ve diluted the solution. We need to get it into the epicenter of infected areas, and to do that we need people who are infected, like you. Simple as that.”

  “You want me to go out and start infecting the infected?”

  “Basically, yes. But you won’t feel the same about them as you did before. The Red Solution will make you see them for the threat they are.”

  “And if I say no?”

  Paulson grinned. “You won’t. Because if you do, then no one will warn your family what’s going to happen. No one will be there to save them from The Red Solution that’s coming in a couple days. The clock’s ticking, Porter. And this is the only chance your family’s got to survive.”

  Day Five – 6:49 pm

  Red’s concern about June’s possible infection waned over time. She never displayed any anger or hostility, only fear and agony as she twisted uncomfortably in the back of the cruiser.

  Eventually, Red pulled over to retrieve antibiotics for her. He was nearly certain June wasn’t infected, but he still opened the back door cautiously when he brought her the medicine. He lied and said Allie’s uncle had given it to them. June didn’t question him, and took the pill. Red told her to get out of the car and sit on the side of the road for a bit while he cleaned out the vomit and blood from the back seat.

  After finishing the vile task, Red changed his clothes. He helped June to do the same, and was about to suggest changing her bandages when she pushed him away and rushed to the side of the road. She fell to her knees in the ditch, groaned, and then began to vomit with a worrisome ferocity.

  Red tried to comfort June as she vomited. He rubbed his hand in a circle on her back as she crouched in the ditch, hurling over and over, each time more violently than the last.

  During one of the brief pauses between attacks, Red said, “You must’ve been allergic to that antibiotic.”

  She shook her head and said, “I don’t think so. It’s just…” she wiped her mouth. “You’re supposed to take them with food. Oh God…” she hunched over, and started gagging before another spurt of bile shot forth into the puddle at her feet, wetting the dry weeds. “Fuck. This is horrible.”

  “How’s the pain?”

  “From the puking, or from the bullet hole in my face?”

  “Either?”

  “They’re both fucking bad.” She was trying to be funny, but sounded more pathetic than sarcastic. “How did this happen, Red? How did this happen?”

  He rubbed her back and gazed out at the lowering sun as it neared the flat, brown horizon. “We’re alive. Somehow or another, we’re still alive. That’s got to count for something.”

  “You sure? It wouldn’t take much to convince me we’re in hell, or in limbo, or something like that. Maybe we died already, and this is hell. Sure feels like it. Oh, my stomach’s in knots. Feels like I ate a raccoon and it’s clawing its way out of me.”

  “There’s a visual.”

  “Shut up and get me some water. My mouth tastes like ass.”

  Red returned to the squad car parked on the side of the road, and got two bottles of water. As he closed the trunk, he saw a black figure standing in the field, watching. They were in the middle of nowhere, alongside a dusty, cracked road that got little use from anything other than tractors. On either side of them stretched vast fields of brown, dotted with distant, withered trees like scarecrows, their twisted arms reaching in anger at vengeful gods. Red paused and stared at the dark figure in the distance, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him as the form shambled his way, his visage marred by the mirage of heat.

  “Shit,” he said as he saw that it wasn’t a tree in the field, but a man with a gas mask on.

  “What’s wrong?” asked June.

  “We’ve got company.”

  She stood, startled. “What?”

  “It’s okay, he’s a ways off still.”

  “Is he infected?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think we should wait around to find out.” He slapped his leg and said, “Porter, come here.” The dog was wandering in the field, moving slow and still favoring his side.

  The stranger took off his mask and yelled. His voice carried across the empty field, “Hey, over here.”

  “Come on, let’s go,” said Red. “If you have to throw up, you can hang your head out the window.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, let’s go.”

  She climbed up the small hill of the ditch, and saw the man waving at them from a couple hundred yards away. “He doesn’t look infected to me. It looks like he needs help.”

  “Then he’ll have to get it from someone else.”

  “Please wait,” said the thin, bedraggled stranger, like a wanderer emerging from the desert, dehydrated and exhausted. “Help!”

  “Red,” said June as he rounded the car to get into the driver’s seat. “We can’t just leave him out here to die. We’re in the middle of nowher
e.”

  “He had to come from somewhere,” said Red with his door open, ready to get in.

  “Red, no,” said June, pleadingly.

  He stared across the top of the car at her, groaned, and capitulated. “Fine.” He reached in, started the car, and retrieved the rifle. He returned to her side of the car and hastily gave her a pistol that’d been tucked into the front of his pants. “We’re not taking any chances. If he does anything funny, then shoot him. Okay?” He set the rifle on top. He aimed at the distant wanderer.

  “I’m sick and tired of shooting people,” said June.

  “Well, the car’s running. If this guy acts weird, then let’s get in and get out of here. All right?”

  June nodded.

  “Hey, wait up,” said the stranger, still waving his arms as he stumbled along, concerned the two people he’d found were about to leave.

  “Are you infected?” asked Red, screaming loud enough to hurt his throat.

  “No.”

  June murmured, “Do you think he’d say yes if he was?”

  “Keep your hands up,” said Red. “The second they go down, I shoot.”

  The man stopped, his arms held high.

  “Come this way,” said Red.

  As he approached, Red got a better look at the man in black. He emerged from the wavering mirage, his form materializing like a spirit from the ether. A black man clad in black jeans and a black, long-sleeve shirt. Only his silver buttons and the shimmering glass of the mask in his hand broke the monotonous color scheme. He rested his hands on the top of his head as he continued his prisoner’s march across the field, a rifle aimed at him every step of the way. He had on a belt with several small canisters secured by straps, like a bandolier of huge bullets.

  “What the hell are you doing way out here?” asked Red.

  “Long story,” said the stranger. “I need water.”

  June threw one of her bottles of water his way. It crossed the road, and bounced in the dirt before rolling. He approached it cautiously, and looked at Red for permission before retrieving the dirtied bottle. Once he had it, he greedily drank, wrapping his lips around the tip to prevent a single drop from getting away.

  “Thanks,” said the man before tossing the empty bottle to the dirt. He stepped towards the road, assuming they were all friendly now.

  “Stop,” said Red, the gun still aimed at the man. “What’re you doing out here?”

  “I got run off the road back that way,” he pointed behind him. “I ran. Must’ve been running all day. I’m fucking dying, man. Please stop pointing that gun at me. You’re making me nervous.”

  “Feeling’s mutual,” said Red. “What’s with the gas mask?”

  June had managed to avoid vomiting since they saw the stranger, but now she wretched, and then bent as she began to spit up more bile.

  “She all right?” asked the stranger.

  “She’ll be okay.”

  “Is she infected or something?”

  “No, neither of us are.”

  “Thank you, Jesus,” said the stranger with a relieved laugh. “I’ve been praying all day for someone like you to come around. Felt like I was walking through my own valley of death back there.” He walked down into the shallow ditch on the other side of the road. Red didn’t challenge him as he came back up to the road.

  “Where’re you headed?” asked Red.

  “To find my family,” said the stranger as he produced a photograph. He smiled, and his white teeth were a stark contrast to his dark black skin. “They’re in Dallas, or roundabout that way.”

  “We’re not headed to Dallas.”

  “Yeah, well, you gotta be headed outta this hellhole. Right? All I need is a ride someplace… Any place. There’s not a damn thing out here.”

  “Yeah, well, I can give you some food and water, but…”

  June threw up near Red.

  “Hold up,” said Red as he looked down at June. She wiped her mouth, finished with her latest round of vomiting. He looked at the man in black and yelled, “Stay where you are.”

  Just as Red thought June was finished throwing up, she started again. It was tinged pink, which concerned Red.

  “You gotta let me ride with you. You’re not gonna let me wander out here, are you?” asked the stranger. “Just get me somewhere safe. Don’t make me walk, please.” He laughed and came closer to the car. “This is the first time I asked someone to let me in the back of a squad car.” He laughed again.

  “Stop,” said Red, his attention taken from the stranger by the blood he suspected was in June’s vomit.

  “You sure she’s all right,” said the stranger as he came around the back of the squad car.

  “I said stop!”

  “Hey,” said the man as he donned his mask. It had goggles for eyes, and a white canister stretching down from the mouth. His voice turned tinny behind the mask. “You sure she’s all right? Is she infected or something?”

  “Get back!”

  “All right, all right.” He backed away, his hands held high. He went back to the other side of the car as Red tried to help June up.

  “Sorry ‘bout this,” said the stranger as he walked to the driver’s side door. “But you did it to yourself.”

  “Hey, hey,” said Red as he saw the man open the car’s door. “Hey!”

  The stranger got in the squad car and started to drive away with the door still open. Red chased after him, screaming as he went. He heard something clang on the ground, and then start to hiss, but his attention was focused on the thief. He aimed his rifle, and took a shot at one of the tires. Either he missed, or the bullet couldn’t pierce the revolving tire, because soon the thief was lost behind a cloud of dust, leaving Red and June stranded in the middle of nowhere.

  “Son of a bitch!” Red screamed in frustration as he stood in the middle of the desolate road.

  The hissing noise continued, and when he looked back he saw June emerging from a cloud of red smoke. She was covering her mouth and waving in the air, trying to clear away the smoke as she ran.

  “You okay?” asked Red as she came towards him. “What is that stuff?”

  “I don’t know,” she said between coughs. Red caked her tear-streaked cheeks. “It burns.” They ran together from the smoke, and once comfortably far June uncapped the second bottle of water and doused the unbandaged side of her face with it.

  “Was it tear gas?”

  “I don’t think so. It tastes like burnt popcorn,” she said before taking a drink and then spitting it out.

  “Let’s keep walking to make sure the wind doesn’t blow it this way,” said Red. “Goddamnit! I knew we should’ve left that guy out here. Fuck!”

  “Sorry,” said June. “I should’ve listened to you.”

  Red’s anger eased. He didn’t want her to feel bad. “It’s not your fault. It’s this fucking world we’re stuck in. I don’t think that guy was infected. I don’t know what his deal was.”

  “Who knows?” she asked while rubbing her eye. She kept staring up and blinking, and then rubbing her eye some more. She looked at Red, and then rubbed her eye again.

  “I saw some red shit like that back in Boise City, when I was getting the antibiotics.” He spoke without consideration of the lie he’d crafted.

  “Boise City?” asked June. “I thought Allie’s uncle gave it to you.”

  Red swiftly changed the subject, “Does it sting? Want me to try and flush your eye out?”

  “Yeah,” she said and gave him the bottle. She looked up and held her eye open as he poured water into it. Afterwards she rubbed it, blinked, looked at Red, and then said, “Do it again.”

  He did as she asked. The red mist dissipated in the distance, carried off into the field to dust the brown with ochre.

  June blinked away the water, looked at Red, and then rubbed her eye some more. She backed away.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She stared, the contours of her face smeared with the ochr
e dust turned dark red from the water. Her bandages were stained now, as was her hair.

  June backed away another step, and reached for the pistol at her side. Fear and anxiety dominated her features as she stared at him. Her lip quivered, and her hand shook.

  “June, what’re you doing? What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Who…” she started to ask, her voice trembling. “Who are you?”

  Day Five – 7:13pm

  Porter walked into town, a gas mask over his face and a bandolier of gas canisters around his waist. His hands were in the air as he approached a group of infected gathered in a parking lot. They stared, uncertain of him. Wary, armed, and threatening. He no longer felt a kinship to them, a side-effect of The Red Solution, just as Paulson promised.

  The sun refused to give up its unrelenting heat even as it kissed the horizon. The air was dry, and gusts of wind carried dust, twigs, and a newspaper page along the curb. The sidewalk lined a series of interconnected shops with stucco walls and shattered windows. A sign dangled by a single remaining nail, creaking in the otherwise quiet stillness.