by L. T. Ryan
“I…I’m sorry,” Addison said. “I shouldn’t bother you folks.”
The guy groaned and started toward her. He moved slowly. It seemed as if he had trouble lifting his feet off the ground. The woman did not have the same problem. She walked at a moderate clip in Addison’s direction. From this distance, it was clear she was, or had been, pregnant.
Addison shuffled backward, hoping her retreat would calm the man and woman. They persisted forward, with the woman altering her course to join the man by his side. She wrapped her arm through his and pulled him forward. He stumbled and fell, bringing her to a knee. The woman screamed. In anger, perhaps. Annoyance, maybe. Addison saw a flash in her eyes.
It was at that point that Addison turned and began to run. She looked back at the couple as they rose, the woman first, then the man.
Addison felt pain shoot through her lower right leg. She fell forward, hitting the ground hard. Her shoulder exploded and rocks cut at the side of her face. Behind her, both the man and woman started screaming. It sounded unlike anything Addison had ever heard. She dug into the dirt and gravel driveway with her fingertips and pulled herself forward, managing to bring her knees up. Every time she moved it felt like a knife penetrated her ankle. She looked back. The man and woman gained on her.
“Stop, please.” Tears began to slide down her cheeks. She ignored the pain in her leg and continued to crawl forward.
The engine that had sounded so faint earlier, now roared just behind her field of view. Were there more of them?
The ATV stood fifteen feet away. Such a short distance had never felt so untraversable to her. She forced herself to her feet. The move nearly did her in. The first step she took on her right foot sent her careening forward. She reached out and caught herself. From that point, she hopped toward the vehicle.
Past the fence, headlights and a dark blue truck appeared. She glanced back. The man seemed entranced by the approaching vehicle. He stopped in place. The woman tugged at his arm, groaning loudly.
Addison fell onto the ATV. She lifted her left leg over the seat while holding the grips on the end of the handlebars. The other gave out. She cried out and fell to her knee. Her left leg remained atop the seat.
This seemed to get the woman’s attention. She let go of the man and started toward Addison, who could see the hate on the woman’s face.
The truck’s horn blared. This distracted the woman for a brief moment, which was enough time for Addison to pull herself up. She reached down and grabbed the ignition key. Before she could turn it, the woman lunged at her, knocking her from the seat. Addison landed hard on her side. Unable to breathe, she clawed forward. Then it felt as though a rock had been hurled at her back. She squirmed to her side. The woman had jumped on her, perhaps knee first, and now straddled Addison’s torso.
“Get off me,” Addison shouted.
The woman leaned forward, mouth wide open. Addison reached up and wrapped her hands around the lady’s neck. No matter how hard she squeezed, it did little to deter the woman. It was as if the lady didn’t care that Addison strangled her.
The woman placed her hands on Addison’s arms near her elbows. Pain tore through her arms and her hands went limp. The woman smiled, leaned back, then lunged forward. Addison closed her eyes in preparation of her death.
Then, seemingly at once, a shot rang out, the woman went limp, and warm fluid coated Addison’s face. She heard another shot a few seconds later.
Addison struggled to free herself from the lifeless body that pinned her down. She saw a figure approach and stop a few feet away.
“Well, look what we got here,” he said.
Addison shook her head at the man with bandages wrapped around his head. “Please, don’t bring me back there.”
“Oh, you’ll be lucky if we do that. We’re only here for our ATV.” He walked up to her and placed the end of his rifle near her head. She felt the heat coming off the barrel. “We’re done with you.”
“Cut it out, Ralph.” Addison knew the voice. It was Phil. “She’s coming back with us.”
Ralph looked to the side, then back at her. He spit, hitting the ground near her face. He touched the scorching hot barrel of his rifle to her cheek and then walked away.
Thirty
Sean moved the workbench in front of the tunnel entrance. He grabbed the tarp lying next to the dead man and draped it over the bench. He scanned the garage. He saw nothing that gave his secret away. Unless you counted the dead guy in the middle of the room.
He closed the garage door and secured it with a chain and padlock. A tug on the door verified it was secure. He headed into the house. The kitchen was a bloody mess.
Hell, fifty percent of the house was.
He continued into the living room. Kathy’s corpse remained where he’d left it. He grabbed a broom and poked her with it. She didn’t respond. He didn’t expect her to. Still, he had to make sure.
Sean went to the window and checked the front of the property. It looked empty. He walked back to his wife’s body and knelt before it. She looked peaceful, much like the beings outside of the facility in Nigeria. Sean had never been much of a church-going man, but today he bowed his head and said a quick prayer asking for his wife to be allowed to move on. He considered taking her body out back, to the woods. By this point, he had enough of her blood on him that a bit more wouldn’t make a difference.
In the end, he left her. He had to get moving, and carrying her across the back would take too long.
He rose and walked toward the kitchen, stopping to take one last look at his wife. After a silent moment, he proceeded through the kitchen and out the back door.
It felt cooler out, probably due to the fact he was coated in sweat and fluid. Sean moved quickly, straight out from the house. He looked at the patch of woods. Again, he thought about placing Kathy’s body within it. He didn’t need to give her a burial. Nature could have her way with the corpse.
The woods rustled in front of him. He reached for his weapon. It wasn’t there. In his haste to leave the house, he’d left his HK MP7 inside. The weapon was instrumental to his survival. There was no way he’d leave it behind and let someone else gain control of it.
He operated under the assumption that time was short. Whoever had gotten away had likely seen enough that a witch hunt would ensue. Sean couldn’t blame them if they did come back. That didn’t mean he’d welcome them with open arms, either. He didn’t trust anyone. He couldn’t. They faced a situation unlike any other in history. He couldn’t count on people to act humanely. They’d come for Kathy, and stay for the house. And the longer they hung around, the more risk they posed.
He hurried through the house, grabbed his MP7, took one last look around, avoiding Kathy’s corpse, and headed toward the garage. He stopped at the door. Taking the tunnel from there would be safest. However, it would also prevent him from knowing whether or not someone had arrived. He turned and exited his home through the back door.
While crossing the field to the barn was dangerous, Sean knew he had an advantage. He could hear them coming before they would be able to see him. He hustled to the field. With no one around, he slowed his pace. The urge to hurry was present within him, but the need to make it to the barn safely was greater. One false step and he could find himself stuck, halfway to nowhere.
Sean felt calm, collected, and confident as he moved through the grass.
So it came as a surprise when the shot rang out behind him.
He dove forward, landing on a hard stretch of ground. He grimaced at the pain in his ribs. Hopefully nothing was broken. Men called out in the distance. Multiple truck engines revved. Even from this distance, he could hear gravel kicking up and bouncing off their undercarriages.
Another shot was fired. It hit the dirt nearby.
Sean began to crawl to his left, away from the barn and parallel with the house. There was only so much cover in the direction he traveled, but it would lead anyone who followed away from his daughter.
Once at the edge, he had two choices. Run for the house, or run for the woods. The woods would provide cover, if he could reach them. The house was even more of a long shot. In addition to that, he’d have to face the men.
Voices approached, maybe twenty yards away. Sean wished he’d equipped his weapon with a suppressor. Any shot he fired would draw the entire group to his position. He might be able to pick off a few of them, but eventually one of them would get lucky and take him down. He couldn’t risk that.
The voices stopped. He listened for footsteps and rustling grass. The only sound was the hum of a diesel engine and the wind through the field.
“He musta headed to the woods,” a man said.
“You sure you saw someone?” another man said.
“Yeah, I’m sure. What the hell? You think I’m seeing things?”
“I don’t know, man. You ran out guns blazing, but you’re the only one that says he saw anything.”
“Maybe he ran off to the woods when I turned to get you. Let’s get a couple more guys then regroup.”
“All right.”
Sean waited a few moments. He rose up far enough to see the two men heading around the side of the house. They’d come too close. He would have had the jump on them, but then what?
In the distance, the hum of engines fell silent. The low murmur of men talking filled the void. Distance prevented him from deciphering what they said.
Sean got to his feet and headed straight toward the woods. The men would search the house, find nothing but dead bodies, and then decide to leave. He could wait them out as long as necessary.
Every ten or so feet, he glanced back. So far, no one had spotted him. The trees and the cover they provided were so close, yet seemed miles away. Sean’s ribs ached with every step. Breathing had become difficult. Still, he pushed on.
He heard a shout and dove to the ground. The pain in his chest intensified. He started to feel lightheaded and his pulse pounded at an estimated one hundred beats per minute. What was going on? He feared heart attack. He took a quick look toward the house and determined that no one had spotted him. A few deep breaths later, the feelings subsided. Just panic, he told himself. Relax.
With the trees mere feet way, Sean rose and jogged the final distance, nearly losing his balance as he passed the first strand. He took cover behind the thickest trunk he could find, resting for a few minutes.
The expanse between the house and barn teemed with activity. At least five men combed it. Two headed toward the barn, two toward him, and one in the opposite direction. These men were hunters. They wouldn’t have to get much closer to spot him. And what if there were already a few in the woods? Someone could have entered by the road and be heading toward him right then.
Sean turned and headed deeper in to the forest. He went far enough that he could not be seen from the field. He turned left and headed toward the road. Now he could intercept anyone who was prowling. If he had to shoot, so be it. In the time that it took for the rest of the group to figure out where their fallen partner was, Sean could be a quarter mile away. No one knew these woods better than he did.
He worked his way toward the road, stopping often to listen. Diesel engines hummed on and off. Men barked orders. Their voices echoed around him. He saw no one along the way. Perhaps these guys weren’t as organized as he thought.
A stiff breeze passed through the woods, blowing leaves around and carrying with it the smell of something burning. He initially wondered who was burning yard waste. It didn’t take long for his mind to make the next leap. The men were burning the bodies of their fallen comrades.
Despite a desire to get to the barn and back underground, Sean pushed on toward the road. He couldn’t shake the thought that one or two of the men would stay behind, hidden in the cover of the trees. If so, he wanted to spot them. He could wait or return in the middle of the night to dispose of them.
As he approached the road, Sean heard a rising rumble to his right. He dropped to his belly and crawled forward, pushing leaves ahead of him. The pile grew. He burrowed into it.
The noise grew louder.
The sight that came next caused the panic to hit him full force.
Five pickup trucks rolled past him. Three stopped on the street in front of his property. Two turned onto his driveway. Each truck seemed to carry a minimum of four men. A couple had extra guys riding in the bed.
These men weren’t leaving any time soon.
Thirty-One
Emma sat on the couch, knees drawn to her chest, crying. Her dad had been gone too long. She began to fear the worst. It had something to do with her mother. She knew that much. Her father hadn’t realized that she had seen the screen, seen him watching the woman.
Her mother was sick, like the people on the television.
But why had he gone out there? Was she in danger? Or did she pose a danger to them?
From across the room, Barbara watched her. The woman said nothing. Emma took note of Barbara’s red, puffy eyes, and raw nose. She knew, too. Perhaps, she knew more than Emma did.
“Why did my father go out there?” Emma asked.
Barbara stared blankly at her for a moment. She opened her mouth, but said nothing. Finally, she closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Tell me,” Emma said.
“I don’t know,” Barbara said.
“Yes, you do.”
“I wish I did. I wish I could have stopped him.” Her voice shook and she choked back sobs.
Emma studied her. She’d never realized how much Barbara and her mother looked alike until now. They could have been sisters. They acted like it, anyway.
“We’ve got to do something,” Emma said.
Barbara didn’t react to her words.
Emma rose and walked toward the computer. “You can stand around crying, Barb. I’m going to figure out what’s going on.”
Barbara reached out for Emma as she passed. Emma shrugged her off.
She took a seat in her father’s chair and wiggled the mouse side-to-side. A lock screen came up with a dialogue box asking for a password. She leaned back in her chair and thought for a minute. First, she entered her name. Nothing happened. Then she entered her mother’s name. Again, nothing happened. She combined their names, added birthdays, important years, anything she could think of. None of it worked.
“What was his friend’s name?” Barbara said.
Emma swiveled in her chair to face the woman. “Who?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
Emma shrugged. “No idea. Dad doesn’t have friends.”
“No.” Barbara straightened up and walked toward the desk. She pointed at a picture tacked to the wall underneath the monitors. There was a row of them. Pictures of Emma, her mother, the family together. But there was one man that stood out. A black man dressed in military clothing. “Him.”
Emma studied the picture. She’d heard her father talk about the man. What was his name? “Julie? Jilly? Jelly?”
“Jules!” Barbara said. “Jules Hoover.”
Emma typed the name into the box and clicked enter. Nothing happened.
“What year did he die?” Barbara asked.
“I guess when Dad lost his leg.” She deducted eight years and entered that after Jules’s name. A moment later, her father’s desktop appeared.
The blank screen offered no clues. She double clicked the mouse and a handful of icons appeared. No descriptions, just odd pictures. She hovered the mouse along the bottom of the screen, looking for the taskbar. Nothing happened. She shifted it to the left and the bar appeared. She clicked on every icon that indicated there was an open window. The fourth one she pressed, a window full of camera feeds appeared.
“There it is,” Emma said.
Barbara leaned in. Her breath was warm on Emma’s neck. “I’ve seen him switch to different views, different cameras.”
Emma nodded. She had already figured out how to cycle through the various feeds.
The images on the screen frightened her. She assumed Barbara felt the same by the way the woman clutched her arm. In front of the house, there were at least a dozen men. They went in and out, sometimes returning with bodies. The bodies were carried away and placed in a pile. Nearby, a fire burned.
“Oh, Jesus,” Barbara said. “They’re going to burn them?”
Emma ignored her. She spotted a man carrying a woman. Without seeing the face, she knew it was her mother. Tears fell across her cheeks. She bit her lip to keep from sobbing.
“I wonder where your father…”
Emma felt Barbara’s stare. She turned toward the woman. They both began to sob.
After a minute, Emma stopped and looked toward the screen.
“What are they doing?” she said.
“Burning the house down,” Barbara said.
“Why?”
“The virus, I guess.”
“But they already took the bodies.”
“Maybe they figure the house is sick, too.”
Panic set in. “They’re going to find the tunnel. They’ll find it and they’ll get to us.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“We have to get out of here.”
“Your dad told us to stay put, Em. We should stay here and wait for him.”
“Do you see him out there?” Emma yelled.
Barbara leaned back, eyes wide.
“I’m sorry,” Emma said. “What if they got him? We can’t just wait here for them to get us. There’s two ways out of here. One tunnel leads to the barn. From there, there is a back door that no one knows about. We can take that. It’s just a short sprint to the woods.”
“We need to stay right here.”
“What’ll happen when they burn the barn down? It’ll collapse and we won’t be able to get out. Or worse, they’ll discover the tunnel back there, too. We have to go now.”
“Do you even know the pass codes, Em?”
