by Thomas North
With all of this going on, we have begun to receive a number of reports of fatalities. We've yet to receive any official, uh, statistics on this, but e-mails we're receiving suggest a number of deaths, though we have no way of knowing the exact numbers.
We've just now received a report of a large explosion in the vicinity of downtown Brattleboro. We don't have any further information at this time.
Sorry folks, while Elizabeth was talking there, Eric Schneider, one of our staff, just handed me the full list of shelters. Again, these shelters are considered secure and safe, and are manned by armed police or National Guard soldiers. They're also scrolling at the bottom of the screen, but I'll go ahead and read the list here. So here goes: Camp Roberts, Camp Edwards, Rutland Middle School...
"Maybe we should try to get Phil to one of those shelters," Kate whispered, reading the scrolling marquee at the bottom of the screen. She looked back at the bed, where Phil was sleeping again. "Maybe they have a doctor there or something."
"I don't know how we'd get out of here," Jack replied. "Can't go out the door, I don't think. Maybe the window."
He got up. "Let me see."
"Hey Jack, I˗" Kate began, but he was already out of the room, so she hurried to catch up.
He went into the bedroom down the hall, which looked as though it belonged to Phil's daughter. A small computer desk sat against the far wall in front of the window, and Jack pulled it away and pulled up the blinds.
"Hey Jack," Kate said. "I don't think the window is such a good idea, I mean..."
"I just want to check and see if it's doable," Jack replied. "I'm just going to open the window and see how far down it is. We could always make one of those sheet ropes, or whatever, like they do in the movies."
"Yeah, well, I just, um˗"
"It's just a backup, just in case. Hopefully this'll all blow over and we can just go out the door."
Jack unlocked the window and pushed it up easily. A blast of cool, damp air blew in, carrying with it a hint of a pungent rot. Jack leaned out the window. The rain was a light sprinkle right now, a feeling on his face and head that was soothing compared to the stuffiness of being confined to the second level of a house for over twenty-four hours. He could hear the groans and growls of the people below clearly now, and he locked eyes with one of them, a tall, skinny woman in a brown skirt that was half-falling off of her, and a torn blue t-shirt. Dried blood coated her mouth, but she otherwise looked uninjured. The woman seemed to regard him for a moment, and then growled angrily and stepped forward. The rest of the people near her seemed to notice as well, and they all started staggering forward. Before long, nearly a dozen people were crowded beneath the second-story window and looking up at Jack, their mouths agape and salivating.
Jack ducked back into the house, shaking his head.
"I don't think this would work. They'd be below us by the time we could climb down. They just crowded around the second they saw me," Jack said. "Just standing there like they're waiting for me."
"So no window then?" Kate asked.
"I don't know," Jack replied. "Seems that way. Maybe we could try tricking them. Have one person come over here and get them to crowd around this window, then we could climb out the back window. Unless there are people there too."
"I think there are," Kate replied. "I looked out before I went to bed last night and there were people there."
Jack shook his head. "Won't work, then. It would have to be the door. It was a long shot anyway. If Phil got so sick that we had to get him out of here, he probably wouldn't be able to climb out a window. Might've been a decent idea for us if we need to get out but, I guess not."
His face brightened. "But like I said, I'm sure we'll be walking out normally, once this ends. I was just thinking about, you know, aside from Phil, if it didn't."
"If it didn't end?" Kate asked. "What's that mean?"
"I just meant..." he paused.” I don't know. If for some reason we had to leave before it ended, I mean. Just trying to think ahead."
Kate nodded. "I've still got the gun."
"Yeah," Jack replied. "You've still got the gun."
10
THE PAIN SHOT through his head like frozen lightning, an icicle jammed through his frontal lobe. He cried out in pain and sat up, clutching his head.
"God damn!" he yelled.
"Thanks for joining us," Sarah said.
"You want some water or anything?" Mary asked him.
"Yeah... that would probably be good."
Mary grabbed an old coffee mug that had been originally sitting on one of the desks and took it into the restroom. She rinsed it out and then filled it with water from the faucet and brought it to Brent. He eyed it for a moment and then gulped it down.
"God damn, what the hell happened?"
"Well," Sarah said, sitting down on the floor next to him. "You were standing outside in the alley. I was telling you not to tempt fate, and then one of those people took you to the ground like an MMA fighter."
Brent set the mug down, leaned forward, and clutched his head in his hands again.
"The good news is that Kyle and I managed to keep him off of you long enough for Mary to go get your brother."
"What'd you do with the guy?" Brent asked.
Kyle, Mary and Sarah looked at each other, and hesitated.
"Mike took care of that." Sarah said. "The guy is, um, dead."
Brent looked up and laughed, catching the rest of them by surprise.
"You mean dead, or dead?" he asked.
Sarah again looked questioningly at her two friends, who returned the confused look.
"Don't suppose any of you have any Aspirin or Tylenol or anything?"
"Nope."
"Beer?" he asked.
"If I'd had any, it'd be gone by now," Sarah replied.
Brent laughed. "No doubt."
"I have some Advil," Mary said. "I get headaches sometimes."
She pulled a small sample packet out of her pocket and handed it to him. His mug was empty, so she took it back into the bathroom and refilled it.
"Thanks," he said, and tore open the package and swallowed both pills at the same time.
Brent looked at his watch. "I was out for a half-hour?" he asked.
"Yeah about that," Kyle replied, not taking his eyes off of the laptop, where he was still focused.
"So I'm guessing nothing new happened while I was out, like those crazy fucks disintegrating or something," Brent said.
"Actually," Kyle replied. "The government just said they'll be sending some Army units into some towns to help. They said the first ones will be in the state tonight."
"The State government, or the Feds?" Brent asked.
"Feds," Kyle replied. "They're sending some units from... Camp Drum? I don't know anything about this stuff."
"Fort Drum. It's in New York," Brent replied. "They're not Marines, but it'll work. Might just need twice the people."
"Isn't one guy with a gun the same as the next?" Sarah asked.
"Depends who you ask," Brent replied. "But yeah. Don't quote me on it, but the Army will get the job done. Just some inter-service rivalry coming through."
"You were in the Marines?" Kyle asked.
"Yeah," Brent replied.
"Cool."
Brent shrugged. "Yeah, I guess it was pretty cool. Except the getting shot part."
"So we just have to hang on a little longer," Mary said.
"I hope it's not too much longer. I'm starving," Kyle replied. "I've been dizzy for the last four hours. God, how the hell do people on fasting diets do it?"
"Just try not to think about it," Mary told him.
"Hard not to."
"We could always grab some take out," Brent suggested.
"I'm pretty sure the McDonald's drive through isn't open right now," Sarah replied.
"No, but we could go out the back door and run across the street to one of those houses. Go in and grab something."
"That's crazy,"
Mary said.
"Brent, really? After what just happened?" Sarah asked.
"Doesn't matter. I'll be more on guard this time. I'm with Kyle. I'm friggin' starving."
Sarah shook her head. "Jeez, it's just one more day. I'm hungry too, but we're not going to drop dead if we don't get a Big Mac in the next twenty-four hours."
"I'd settle for pickled pig shit at this point," Brent replied.
"On second thought, maybe I'm not so hungry," said Kyle.
"And your optimism is bullshit," Brent said. "Twenty-four hours my ass."
Brent started to push himself up, then stopped. The world started spinning around him, and he had to touch the wall to try to steady himself. A wave of nausea swept through him, and he put a second hand on the wall and leaned forward to avoid throwing up the little bit of food that might still be in his stomach.
Mary stepped forward. "You okay?" she asked.
"Yeah. Okay. Just dizzy."
He waited, and the feeling passed. He stood up straight and turned back around.
"You all pick up my gun?" he asked.
"Over there," Sarah said, pointing to the corner next to the restroom door, where the gun was lying.
He walked over and picked it up, then checked to make sure it was still loaded.
"You're not really going to go back out there?" Sarah asked.
He walked towards the back door.
"I'm going to go hunt me up some dinner," he said. "You can thank me when I get back."
With that, he went through the supply room. Mary and Kyle looked at each other, worried, while Sarah stomped along behind him.
"Brent, you're not just putting yourself in danger. Those people don't know what they're doing. If they attack you and you have to kill someone like your brother did, that's not their fault, it's yours. They're sick. They don't know what they're doing. You do."
Brent spun around, his back to the exit door.
"I did kill someone, remember?" he snapped. "When I saved your friend's life. And Mike already killed four people before we got here. Plus the one today, apparently. So that ship's already sailed.""
"That...that...." Sarah stammered. Mike had killed four people before they got to the police station? That meant Brent and his brother had killed six people? It was hard for her to fathom. That was more than some serial killers.
Then she remembered: she and her friends might have killed someone. It wasn't on purpose, but nonetheless...
Her faced hardened.
"Look, if you had to kill those people, fine. It doesn't mean you need to put yourself and them in danger any more. Once the Army gets here˗"
"What is it that you think the Army is going to do?" Brent asked. "They're guys with guns, Sarah. You said it. They're not scientists, they're not doctors, they're not microbioviralwhateverthefuckologists."
"It's not like they're going to come in and massacre people."
"No, I'd guess they'll probably come in and try to zip-tie people and put them in holding pens until all the smart people come in and figure out how to make those nutcases not be nutcases anymore. But it's not going to be clean. Those people are psychotic. The soldiers are well trained and they'll use restraint, but they will have to defend themselves sometimes. And people will get hurt. Probably killed. War is messy, Sarah."
"This is not war, Brent."
"Not war is also messy."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "It doesn't change˗"
"All the words in the world and a few crazies aren't going to get between a man and his dinner. So you can hang out here or you can come with me. Your call."
He opened the door and stepped into the alley, this time immediately checking to his left and front. Dusk had already set in, and the alley was shadowy and dark. He began walking between the two buildings. He heard the footsteps behind him and looked over his shoulder.
"Not so crazy after all, huh?" he whispered.
"I'm just making sure that if one of those people gets the jump on you, I'll be around to save your ass again," she responded.
Brent grinned in response, but kept going, into the misty evening.
He stopped at the end of the alley, leaned out, and looked down the road in both directions. The street lights were still on, throwing cones of light onto the street, illuminating the figures staggering and tumbling around, just they had been the night before. Directly across the street was a yellow two-story house. The driveway was empty, though the single-car garage was closed.
"What if there's people there?" Sarah asked.
"We'll ask if we can borrow a cup of sugar."
"Funny, smart ass," Sarah replied. "What if it's locked?"
"You're not from a small town, are you?"
"No. I'm from Worcester."
"Yeah, I figured. Nobody locks their doors around here. Now let's go. We sprint across, get inside and shut the door. No fucking around."
Before she could say anything else, Brent took off. He arrived at the door first, which opened without any trouble. She hurried in behind him and shut the door. The house was small and cozy. An old brown refrigerator was visible in the kitchen, just down the hallway.
Outside, people who had been wandering aimlessly in the streets or crowded around other buildings stopped in their tracks and looked around, a faint odor of... something, tickling their nostrils, for a fleeting moment.
Wasting no time, Brent and Sarah walked down the short hallway, past photographs of a happy older couple and what looked like their grown children, and into the kitchen. Brent started opening cupboards. He paused at one, pulled out a garbage bag, and tossed it to Sarah.
"Since you decided to come along, you can hold the bag."
He grabbed several items from the cupboards, including half a loaf of bread, some canned soups, a couple of cans of Spam, and a variety of other random items like potato chips and baked beans. He also raided the refrigerator, pulling out some bottled water and half a carton of orange juice, and grabbed utensils from the drawers.
"That it?" Sarah asked, holding the bulging garbage bag by the top.
"We're good," Brent replied. "Not exactly a buffet here, but it'll do. Let's go."
He'd just taken a step forward when the front door shook behind them.
"Ah damn it," Brent swore.
"Nice, Brent," Sarah said. "What now?"
"Probably just one person," Brent replied. "But no problem. We'll go out a back door if there is one. If not, we'll use a window."
To their left was another doorway, this one leading into what appeared to be a family room or den. Brent looked in, then gestured for Sarah to follow. There was a set of glass sliding doors in the rear wall, the curtains open, revealing a large deck with a gas grill and a hot tub. Brent slid the doors open, checked in both directions, and stepped outside. Beyond the deck was a small back yard enclosed by an old privacy fence, its wood gray and splintered, some of its panels cracked. The gate was to the right of the deck, between the garage and the house.
Brent went across the deck and down the stairs, the soggy grass squishing under his feet. He approached the gate and, grabbing the top, lifted himself up and peeked over.
"Damn," he mumbled.
"What?" Sarah asked.
"Looks like our dinner run has attracted a crowd." He looked over again. There was a small group of people milling around in front of the house. One of them turned and looked towards the gate, and, seeing, began his stiff walk forward.
"We'll climb over the back fence," Brent said, turning around. "Come around from the other side."
"Terrific," Sarah said, following behind.
A splintering noise came from behind them, and they both looked back. The gate burst open, and a curly-haired man in a Karate outfit staggered into the yard. Through the gate, they could see more people behind him.
"Here, I'll hoist you over," Brent said. He leaned the shotgun against the fence and made a step with his hands. "Toss the bag over, then climb up."
"How'll you get over
?" Sarah asked.
"I should be able to climb up myself," he said. "Hurry the hell up."
She tossed the garbage bag of food over the fence, winced when she heard the sound of glass breaking, then stepped onto Brent's hands. He lifted her up, and she went over. She came down hard and rolled, coming up with her shirt soaked and covered in mud. She picked up the garbage bag and waited for Brent.
A gunshot boomed from the other side of the fence, and she pressed her face to the wood and looked through a crack between the panels. She could see Brent standing a foot or so away from the fence, pointing the shotgun at the Karate man, who was coming towards him. The front of the man's Karate gi was covered in blood, the product of a large hole in his abdomen.
Brent fired again, and the man jolted backwards, blood spraying out the back of him, the second shot right beside the first. The man tripped over his own feet and fell on his rear end on the grass. He looked dazed for a moment, then growled angrily, and started to get back up. Brent fired a third time, this shot ripping off a chunk of the man's shoulder. The man fell to the ground again from the force of the blast. This time, Brent put the shotgun barrel an inch from the man's chest, right over his heart, and fired. The man's body jumped as if he'd been given an electric shock, and a fist-sized hole opened in his chest cavity.
Sarah backed away, shaking her head.
Then she heard another growl, and looked through the fence again.
The man was sitting up again, daylight visible through his chest. He leaned forward and snapped his teeth at Brent, who planted a foot across his temple, sending the man back down to the ground again. This time Brent put the shotgun just above the man's head, pulled the trigger, and turned his skull and brain into lawn fertilizer.
More people were coming in through the gate, but Brent ignored them and turned towards the fence.
Sarah's mouth hung open, in shock. The man had had a hole blasted clear through his chest, and he hadn't died. Her memory went back to the day before, and the man they'd hit with the car.
