"Could be." Brian said. "Or I suppose coyotes or dogs could have dragged them off."
Jen and I nodded.
"Another possibility," Brian continued, "and I'm sorry to bring something like this up at the dinner table, but another possibility is that they are eating each other. My friend in Greece suggested this was taking place."
We were quiet for a while.
"I hope everyone has room for dessert," Brian spoke up finally, in a cheery tone. "I have a Sara Lee cheesecake in the freezer."
He got up from the table, and Jen helped him clear the dishes. I stepped over to the large dining room window, looking out onto his backyard. It was dusk, but I could see neat rows of small trees to the left. To the right was a grape trellis. There was a small fountain between them. Farther to the right, surrounded by a patio, was an in-ground swimming pool. About fifty yards out, I could see the base of his wind turbine. We probably didn't notice it coming in because it was so large and the blades were not in our field of vision. We just thought it was another tower.
If seen from far enough away, that thing would be a like a beacon to every survivor for miles around. I suspected that within the next few weeks, he'd have more than the infected gathering on his lawn; he'd have refugees, and not all of them would be as nice as we. I mentioned it to him as I closed the shades.
"The more the merrier," he said.
"But what about those that would take this place for themselves?"
"I think you've watched too many Mad Max movies," he said. "I think a crisis like this will bring us all together."
I didn't want to argue with him, but I feared that soon this would be a dangerous place to live.
We had our cheesecake and wine in the living room by the glow of the fireplace (we didn't dare turn on the lights). The curtains were closed, and we avoided the topic of current events. When we were done, feeling full and relaxed from the wine, Jen stood.
"Brian, I'm going to impose on you."
"Please do."
"I would love a hot shower. Would it be okay?"
"Of course! Both of you make yourselves at home. At the end of the hall and on the right. I'd be happy to wash your clothes, too, if you didn't bring more."
"That would be great," she said. "I'll leave them outside the bathroom door."
She smiled and left us.
When she was gone, Brian poured the last of the bottle in my glass.
"How long have you two been together?"
"Since yesterday morning."
"Hmm. I took you to be a couple. No?"
"No.”
"Hmm. You have no idea who I am, do you?"
"Sure I do," I said. "We went to the same high school. You were a couple of years behind me."
"That's what Jen tells you, right?"
"No," I said. "I mean, I didn't remember you right away, but now I do." Really I didn't.
"It's okay," he said. "I saw you on Facebook a couple of years ago, and I didn't remember you right away, either."
"I guess I didn't make a big impression," I said.
He stared at his empty glass for a moment.
"I'm going to go get Jen some clean clothes to wear in the meantime."
He left for a moment and returned with two jogging suits.
"These should be comfortable enough to sleep in," he said. "Henry is about your size. His is the maroon. Take it, go change, then bring me your other clothes."
"I'd hate to--"
"Just do it," he said, acting weary.
I took a candle from the mantle and did as he told me. When I returned to the living room with my dirty clothes in my arms, Brian was gone. I sat down to wait for him and finish my wine. The only sound was of the gas hissing in the fireplace, and Jen's shower down the hall.
Then a door in the dining room flew open, and Brian stumbled out, lit from the room he'd just left. The color was gone from his face.
"They're in the house!"
CHAPTER 16
I jumped up and ran to him, my dirty clothes and wine glass spilling to the floor. He was coming out of the basement. He turned and tried to shut the door, but an arm reached in and prevented it.
I joined him, pushing on the door.
"I forgot to turn the light off when I was down there today. I've been distracted with making dinner. I guess when it got dark outside they could see it. They've broken through the basement window."
"How many?"
"There were three down there by the washing machine. More coming in."
"But the light is still on down there," I said, pressing the door.
"Yes," he said. Then it dawned on him what that meant.
They would just keep coming.
The infected man that had chased Brian up the stairs was forcing his way in. His head and left shoulder pushed through the opening. Brian and I were both against the door, but the man had help. We could hear and feel more of them on the other side against the door and walls.
"If we can get the door closed, I think we can block it," I said. "Maybe we should let him through, and then shut it behind him."
Brian hit the man in the head with his fist, but the man was unfazed.
"Oh God, he's getting in!" he yelled.
The door pushed us, and we pushed back. The man fell, but he was now out as far as his waist. A second person put their arm in the opening. The first man grabbed Brian's ankle.
"Nooooh...He bit me!"
I kicked out at the man but missed. I didn't want to let up on my pressure against the door. Then Jen was there, dripping wet and wrapped in a white towel. She had the .22. She put it against the man's head. There was a pop! and he quit moving. Then she stepped around him and shoved the rifle barrel through the crack in the door.
pop! pop! pop!
The other arm slipped back through the crack, and we could hear them falling down the stairs. She pulled the rifle out, and the door shut. There was this odd smell in the air that was the mixture of gunpowder and Jen's shampoo. Brian put his weight against the door, gripping his ankle. He stared at the dead man in the floor.
"Oh my God, you shot him."
Jen and I dragged the body out of the way.
"It is best not to think of them as people," she said.
"But they--" Brian started.
"They're not people anymore!" Jen said.
"It's okay, sweetie," Brian said. "I'm not judging you, I'm just...well...you were so brave. Thank you."
Jen nodded and forced a smile.
We moved the dining room table to block the basement entrance.
They continued to pound against the door, and every time they did, the table would jostle. Brian crawled into the living room next to the fire, and Jen went with him to check out his wound. I stayed in the dining room piling up every heavy thing I could find on and around the basement door.
When I finally got into the living room, Jen stood.
"It broke the skin," she said. "Get him drunk. I don't care what that website says; get him plastered."
She noticed me looking at her. She adjusted her towel and handed me the rifle.
"Get your eyes back in your head," she said. "I'm going to get dried and dressed. I'll look for a first aid kit for that ankle."
I watched her walk down the hall. When she got to the bathroom door, she turned and looked at me before going inside.
"I saw that," Brian said. "You two--"
"Where do you keep your booze?" I interrupted. "You've got some drinking to do."
Brian was pouring his third shot of Maker's Mark when Jen returned from the bathroom. She was wearing Brian's gray jogging suit. I handed her the rifle.
"I'm going to change back into my regular clothes in case we have to leave soon," I said.
"Where are my clothes?" she asked.
"In the basement," Brian said. He downed the third shot. "You know, you two should be drinking, too. I mean, he's right there, bleeding in the floor. Jesus, there's a dead man in my dining room."
Je
n took a drink from the bottle and held it out to me.
"I'm still feeling the wine," I said. "I'll have something when I get back."
I hadn't realized how bad I smelled until I changed back into my dirty clothes. It wasn't so much from sweat, although there was that, but I reeked of smoke from our fire at Blaine's and from the fires in town. I wondered how Brian stood to be around us without insisting we bathe and change. He was a good host. I was disappointed; I'd been looking forward to a shower. I didn't want to risk it now. We might need to make a quick getaway.
When I came back, Jen was putting a bandage around Brian's ankle. I went in the dining room and checked the basement door. It was holding, but I could hear them on the other side of the door on the stairs. I could hear movement below us, too.
"Brian, where's the breaker box? Maybe we could kill the lights down there with that."
"Garage," Brian replied.
I started to the garage and, on my way, peeked through the curtain of the front window. The crowd on the lawn was gone. They were all likely in the basement by then. I changed my mind. I'd leave the light on down there. By morning, everyone that gathered outside would have gone into the basement. Maybe they wouldn't be able to find their way out.
Jen looked up at me when I returned.
"His ankle is starting to swell."
"Does it hurt?" I asked.
"I have enough whisky in me that you could pull my teeth," Brian replied.
Jen stood and moved close to me.
"I think we should watch him," she whispered. "I ain't dealt with bites."
"When he falls asleep, we can tie him to a heavy piece of furniture, just in case," I said.
"You two talking about me?" Brian said from the couch.
"Yep," Jen said.
"Do what you've got to do, Jen," he said. "You've always been nice to me. I trust you."
"We'll sleep in here tonight," I said. "The garage isn't far, if we need to go. We should take turns keeping watch."
"Okay," Jen said. "You sleep first, since you are feeling your wine."
I nodded, "Wake me around one."
I stretched out on the floor in front of the gas logs. I didn't think I'd sleep because of what had just happened and the noise downstairs, but much too soon Jen was shaking me awake.
"Brian has a fever."
I sat up, trying to clear the sleep out of my head.
"What time is it?"
"After midnight."
I went over to the couch and put my hand on his forehead. He was hot, but not hot like the others.
"Maybe it's a fluke," I said. "Maybe he just came down with something."
Jen shook her head.
"Then let's strap him down," I said. "Find some rope or--"
She shook her head again.
"Why?" I said.
"And then what?" she said, on the verge of tears. "And then I just tie him down and shoot him? Is that it?"
"Jen, I--"
"No," she said.
"Jen, maybe he just has a bug. Maybe he has a fever from the bite, but not the virus."
"I don't want to see him turn," she said.
"Okay," I said. "I'll sit with him. You go sleep. You don't have to stay in here, but stay close."
She stood and stared at us both, then went down the hallway and into the bathroom. I saw the light come on under the door.
I felt his head again.
"Brian, does your head hurt?"
He didn't answer. I took a candle and opened doors until I found a bedroom. I checked the closet for a belt. I found a bathrobe, and I took the belt from it. I went back and tied one of his arms to the couch leg. Then I sat in the chair opposite the couch with the rifle across my lap and watched him. Eventually, I fell asleep.
I awoke gradually to a tapping sound. My sleeping mind tried partnering the noise with a dream, but it was just too loud and persistent for me to stay asleep. I opened my eyes, and I was looking down at my lap and the rifle in the orange glow of the gas logs. I had a crick in my neck, and I felt like an ass for falling asleep on watch. It was still dark outside. I looked around for the source of the noise.
One of our downstairs visitors had somehow figured out how to operate the knob to the basement door. The door would open an inch, hit the dining table, and then shut. Open shut open shut tap tap tap tap.
I looked at Brian. He was still sleeping on the couch. I rubbed my neck and stood to push the door closed again. When I stepped into the dining room, I became aware of another sound. It was a rustling noise, very soft, in the darkness near the kitchen. I backed out of the room to get a candle from the mantle of the fireplace. They'd all burned down to just stubs, and only two were still lit. I grabbed one in a wide, glass dish and went back into the dining room, straining to see. The rustling increased, and then stopped.
"Please, be a mouse," I whispered.
I decided right then that the first thing I would do when morning came would be to find a damn flashlight. For the moment, however, I would have to make do. The curtains and shades were closed, so I thought I could risk turning on the light for just a second to see if anything was there. I felt on the wall for the switch. I flipped it on quickly, and then off again.
The man had moved. He was now a few feet from where we'd left him, and there was a smear of blood connecting the two spots.
"Okay," I whispered to myself. "Okay okay okay okay."
My hands were shaking.
I turned the light on again, and then off again. He had definitely moved.
"Okay. Shit. Okay."
I put the candle on the floor then grabbed one of the dining room chairs from the pile of stuff in front of the basement door. I approached him like a lion tamer, using the chair as a shield, rifle aimed forward from my hip, and scooting the candle along with my foot as I went.
When I got close enough, I poked him with the end of the gun. He didn't move. I poked him again, but still nothing. I started to think it was my imagination. Maybe Jen moved him again while I was changing or sleeping. I left the candle and went to find her. There was still light coming out from under the bathroom door. I knocked.
"Jen?"
"What?" She sounded hoarse.
"The man in the dining room...Did you move him?"
Silence.
Then, "No."
The light went out, and the door opened.
"Is he gone?"
"No," I said. "Just moved."
"Just?"
We both walked softly back to the dining room and looked around the corner. He was where I'd left him, the little candle flickering a yellow light over his body.
"Shit," she whispered. "He's still alive."
"I haven't actually seen him move," I said.
"But obviously he has."
"We need to get him out of here," I said. "Let's drag him outside."
She looked exhausted.
"I don't know how much of this I can take," she said.
"Let's drag him out, and then you go get in Brian's bed and sleep. We can wait for you to get rested before we leave here."
She turned and looked at Brian.
"How is he?"
I shrugged, "Sleeping. I was thinking that it might be kind of early for him to be showing symptoms anyway, right?"
"I don't know," she said. "Bites might be different."
The rustling started again. We turned toward the kitchen and the man on the floor looked like he was having a seizure. His body jerked and rolled around. I stared. Jen grabbed the rifle from me and started to shoot, but a spasm brought the man's arm up and he knocked the candle over. Then it was dark. Jen fired anyway, and there was a flash from the end of the gun. The rustling continued. There was a click.
"Shit," she said. "We never reloaded it. We're empty. Go get the shotgun; it's in the truck."
I left her, grabbing the other candle on my way. When I returned with the 12 gauge, I could see Jen's head poking up from behind the couch. She motioned for me to be quiet
then pointed to the dining room.
He was standing there staring at the basement door as it opened, then closed, then opened again. His mouth hung open, and bloody drool dripped from his bottom lip. His eyes seemed vacant.
Jen made a shooting motion with her hands.
I didn't do it. I mean, he was right there. It wasn't like the group I fired into at the court square. This was a man only a few feet away. It felt different. I knew if I shot him at this range with the 12 gauge, I would be taking his life, such as it was, and I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Brian shifted on the couch, and the man's head turned toward him. The man made a noise similar to the old woman we'd encountered; it sounded like a growling cat.
He stepped into the living room, staring blankly at Brian. He growled again.
"Do it," Jen whispered.
The door continued to tap against the dining table.
He stepped farther into the room. The light from the fireplace lit the coagulating blood on the side of his face. How could he be walking?
He took another step.
I looked at Jen. There was something in her eyes that got to me more than my fear and more than my dread over killing someone. It was disappointment, or maybe even disgust. She looked at me the same way she'd looked at her boyfriend, Zach, when she saw him in the doorway of her house and attacked him with the stick. It made me ache inside for her to look at me like that.
I put the shotgun to my shoulder, lined the end of the barrel with the man's chest, and I squeezed the trigger.
CHAPTER 17
The recoil from the shotgun hammered my shoulder.
It wasn't like in the movies--the man didn't fly across the room and there wasn't a bucket of gore. It was as if someone kicked him in the chest. The white stuffing from his coat puffed out, he fell back against the dining table then to the floor.
The tapping of the basement door against the table stopped for a moment. I could hear moaning in the stairwell and there was still movement below us, but otherwise it seemed so quiet. I felt sick. I looked over to Jen. She was standing. Brian was awake and trying to sit up but was prevented from doing so by the belt tied around his arm.
"Let's get that thing out of here," Jen said.
That thing.
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