My street comes up in a heartbeat, so fast I almost miss it. I stomp on the brakes and cut the wheel. The Caravan lurches and wobbles as I make the turn. The damn thing is so top heavy, I can't believe I still have all four wheels on the ground.
In the daylight, my neighborhood looks like a mass gravesite. Bodies are everywhere. If they're dead, I hope they are really dead. They would be the lucky ones.
The van screeches to a halt in front of my house. Kinnelson's car is still at the curb. The house looks relatively untouched. A very good sign, except for the walker ambling on the walkway, keeping me from getting to my house.
"Hurry," I say as I round the van, opening doors as I pass. "Follow me and get inside."
I rush for the door.
"Doc!"
In mid-stride, I reach down and snatch a solar light out of the ground. The walker spots me and starts turning my way. Without offering it the slightest chance of getting us, I raise the stake above my head and swing. The tip drives right into the sucker's eye socket, then the rest.
"Down you go," I shove the walker over and continue my charge. "Doc!"
I reach the door and slam my fists against the oak.
"Doc!"
I glance over my shoulder as I bang on the door repeatedly. Kari and the kids are right behind me.
"Doc, open up," I scream. "Hurry!"
9 AM
HOUR TWENTY
My ears fill with the sound of furniture rubbing and scraping across the floor. The door jiggles a moment then separates from the frame as Doctor Kinnelson moves it aside. We rush through and the door is immediately set back in place.
Kinnelson slides the couch back across the floor and up against the door. He spins around and stares at me. I can see the shock and horror in his eyes and I instantly know I'm not going to like what's about to come out of his mouth.
"My God in Heaven," Kinnelson shakes his head. "This is far, far worse than I expected."
"Expected?" No shit. What he said is completely different than what I expected.
Kinnelson scoots past me and heads for the kitchen.
"Hurry, Michael," he motions me over.
I obediently follow. Kinnelson grabs my arm. Before I have a chance to process what is going on, he jabs a needle in my bicep. My arm feels icy cold, then hot.
"What the hell, Doc?" I wince at the feeling.
"I have to," Kinnelson insists. "After you left, I was studying a blood sample. Not more than ten minutes passed and I began to see the infection attacks increase a hundred fold."
I just stare at him. I know what's happening. I just want to hear it from him.
"The process is accelerating," his grave tone offers no glimpse of reassurance. "The dosage was too small. Think of it as David shooting a spit wad at Goliath. Goliath would have laughed in his face and beat the snot out of him."
"So, what did you just put in me?"
"Just a bit of a sedative," Kinnelson grabs my hand and holds it to my neck. "Feel that?"
My heart is racing out of control. The blood is coursing through my body so fast, I'm surprised something hasn't burst already.
"We need to slow your heart rate down," he grabs his stethoscope and places the drum on my chest. "I think the process feeds off of this. It makes your heart race and race until it gets to the point where you go into cardiac arrest. When that happens, then the process completes itself."
The urgency in his tone sends chills down my spine. Am I that close?
"How can you be sure, Doc?" My voice is shaky.
"I'm not," he confesses. "But I do know that disease feeds on trauma. The human body can change drastically when an affliction or ailment invades and attacks. Look at pregnant women, for instance. Even though pregnancy and childbirth is a natural occurrence, the process greatly affects the mother, sometimes in horrible ways. Gestational diabetes, post-partum depression, both illnesses that are the direct cause of internal trauma."
His words make me feel weak. My whole life, I took decent care of myself. I always paid attention to what my body was telling me. I was barely ever sick and, when I was, it never lasted really long.
The thought of being wiped out by this just pisses me off. People get rabies and it can be treated. Hell, people with HIV were even given a new glimpse of hope with the strides science made in that. Why the hell is this any different?
"So, what's going to happen now?"
"Well," Kinnelson grabs a syringe from the countertop. "I'm going to try again. This time, I am going to double the dosage over the first injection."
Fear washes over me. The first injection was horrendous. The pain was intense. I don't know if I can go through that again.
"Don't worry, Michael," Kinnelson plays off my fear. "I'm going to premedicate you first."
"What does that mean?"
"It means," he points to the syringe. "I am going to inject you with this before I give you the atom bomb injection."
I look at the liquid in the syringe. It doesn't look like much more than water, except for the slightly pink tint to it.
"Relax," Kinnelson assures me. "It's really nothing more than a higher-powered version of Benadryl. Just like you would buy over the counter. This should take care of any chance of allergic reaction. I don't think your body could take another blow like it received last time."
"No argument there."
What happens if I do feel it, though? What if pre-medicating me fails? Then my heart goes to shit and I become one of the undead anyway. I'm not very fond of either option.
Doctor Kinnelson wouldn't purposely put you in danger, Michael.
I know. He could have just abandoned me when I showed up at the hospital, but he didn't. He's done more than I could have hoped for. And, I think that if anyone is going to find a cure for this thing, it will be him. I just hope we both live long enough to see it.
"Can I have a minute, Doc?" I think of the worst. "I want to spend a few minutes with Kari and my kids, just in case something goes wrong."
Kinnelson nods. "Of course. But not too long."
I pat him on the shoulder and try to smile. Smiling is not something I've had too much opportunity to do lately. It would be nice if I didn't have to force it every time.
Kari is sitting on the couch as I enter the living room. Steven is reading one of my old Marvel Secret Wars comics and Lexi is playing My Little Pony with Amy. It reminds me of how life was before all of this, just relaxing without a care in the world.
I walk up behind the couch, lean over and kiss Kari gently atop her forehead, then wrap my arms around her.
"Hey, babe," Kari says softly as she snuggles against me.
"Hey," my voice trembles.
Kari looks up at me. There's no hiding the concern in her eyes. I knew as soon as I spoke that she was going to pick up on it.
"What's wrong, Michael?" She pats the couch. "Come sit down."
I circle around the end of the couch, step over Lexi's toys and sit down. "Doctor Kinnelson is going to give me a stronger dose this time."
Kari's face lights up. "Well, that's good, right?"
There I go again. I don't even think I can fake a smile anymore.
"It could be," I begin. "Then again, it could kill me, too. The first dose was bad enough. But, he said he's going to premedicate me beforehand."
I can feel my face get hot and, before I know it, tears trail down my cheeks. The pressure is catching up with me. I've held my emotions in for so long, I don't think I can do it anymore. I know I need to be strong, but I'm not.
"It's bad, Kari," I fight back the tears. "The reaction was intense. And I know that the injection he gave me had to do something. Whatever this is that is in me didn't like it one bit. It fought back and it fought back hard. But, I think it is winning. That's why Doctor Kinnelson wants to up the dosage."
"But, you're strong," Kari tries to reassure me. "It won't get the best of you."
I shake my head. "No, babe. I think it already is. When we were at M
arty's, strange things started happening. I would get these... visions."
"Like premonitions?" Kari is almost right.
"Sort of," I continue. "When you came out to the van when we were rounding everyone up, you were there and everything was normal. Then, all of a sudden -"
I bite my lip. I can't say it. Every time I even think about it, the images in my mind become more and more real, like this thing is feeding off my memories.
"What happened, Michael?" Kari leans closer, intrigued.
"You were standing there, but you weren't you," If that makes sense. "You were torn to pieces. Mangled."
"That's not all," I'm on a roll. Might as well keep going. "With these visions comes vicious anger and rage - something I've never felt before. And it scares the shit out of me."
Kari's eyes widen. "It scares the shit out of you? It's sure scaring the shit out of me, right now. Can you control it? Should I be getting the kids ready to leave?"
"So far, I have been able to," I can't believe I just fed her a bold face lie.
Aside from Charlie and Marty, you have been able to.
"Look, I understand if you want to leave," I wrap my hand around hers. "But, I can't do this alone. I can't."
"Michael," Kari says softly. "I've never been more scared in my life. And I'm scared for my life, because I've seen what this can do. Babe, I'm not trying to downplay what's happening to you because I know its way worse than what you let on. Rest assured that I am not going to leave you."
I pull her close and hug her tighter than I ever have. The thought of having a woman this strong in my life is breathtaking. She is my rock, there's no doubt in my mind.
"I have to do this," I let go and look her in the eyes. "Just in case I don't -"
"No," she doesn't let me say it. "You go do this. You're gonna do this and it's going to work and we'll be just fine. A few months from now, we'll be reminiscing about this as nothing more than a distant memory. Now, go."
A smile forms on my face and, for once, it's real. I ruffle my Steven's hair then lean over and Lexi and Amy on their foreheads. They smile back and it gives me just what I needed: hope.
Now, it's time to get this moving.
10 AM
HOUR TWENTY-ONE
Doctor Kinnelson pays me no mind as I walk into the kitchen. His preoccupation with taking extra precautions with this next injection is infallible. Given a situation such as this, I don't think I would be able to promise the same thoroughness.
"I guess I'm ready, Doc," I sit down on a chair slightly behind him.
He glances over his shoulder and smiles thinly, then immediately turns back to his work.
"Is there anything you need me to do, Doc?"
"Yes," he pauses for a minute as he fills a syringe with the Benadryl. "Survive."
I chuckle a bit. "I'm trying."
He spins on his stool to face me, pats me on the shoulder and smiles. "And we will survive, Michael."
I can hear the reassurance in his tone and it's nice. Through all of what has transpired over the last day, his ability to turn all this negative into something positive is such a welcome gift. Too bad I was never blessed with the ability.
My dad used to always say, "Son, someday you're gonna need to set your cynicism aside and actually trust someone."
That rings true now more than ever. Ever since I was a little boy, I always had a hard time fully trusting someone. No matter what it was, I always thought there was an ulterior motive any time someone tried to do something for me, or help me in some way. If someone gave me something, I would believe it was only because they wanted something from me. If someone did something nice for someone, were they just doing it to ease their own conscience? Or, make themselves look better? I don't know, it's just the way I felt and still feel sometimes.
"Doc," I hear myself say and I know what's coming next. "Why are you helping me?"
He stops what he's doing and stares at me. His brow furrows and his lips purse. I see him gnawing on his cheek. I took him off guard, I know. Either he's really contemplating it or I pissed him off.
"Well," he exhales heavily. "I never thought about it. You came to me for help. Never once, did I question whether or not I should help you, it was always how I could help you. I guess, if you really want an answer, it is that I am a doctor and a scientist. If I can save one life from this, then maybe there's a chance to save what is left of us, too."
What's left of us?
"I want you to hear this," Kinnelson fumbles through his bag. He pulls out a small radio that's probably as old as he is - a little Sears-Roebuck AM radio. "I decided to give it a shot while you were away and I ran across an emergency station that was still broadcasting. Hopefully, they still are."
He slides the little square switch to the "on" position. The speaker crackles and chirps a few times. Then a woman's voice comes over the speaker. Her tone is grave, weary.
"Less than an hour ago, the White House informed those of us that were still broadcasting that this pandemic is, in fact, worldwide. The estimated death toll has reached over two billion and it is climbing."
"They have issued statements warning everyone to stay away from cities or any areas with above-average populations. Remain indoors, if at all possible. If you must travel, do it during daylight hours only."
I look up at Kinnelson and he just nods at me. It is perfectly clear what is happening. We've worn out our welcome and now Mother Nature is trying to clean our shit up. Balance has to be restored.
"We're going to survive," Kinnelson is confident. "Mankind has been through catastrophe after catastrophe and we have always managed to find a way to prevail. This is our worst one yet. We just have to find a way through it. So, I guess you could call that my motive."
Always a catch, I think to myself. But, at least there is good reasoning behind it and not just a quest for personal gain.
"I also consider you my friend," Kinnelson adds. "Since the moment I met you, I have grown rather fond of you and your family. You're good people. And the world needs more like you."
I'm speechless. I never expected that.
Kinnelson turns the radio off and stuffs it back in his bag. He picks up the syringe and taps the air out of it. "Shall we?"
I make a fist and turn my arm so that my forearm is facing up. A thick vein appears right down the middle of my arm. Kinnelson tears open and alcohol wipe and cleans the area where he's going to stick me.
"Alright," he hovers the syringe over my arm. "You're going to feel a little prick."
He jabs the needle in my arm.
"That's what she said," My quip gets a chuckle out of him.
The liquid enters my veins and it is freezing. The chill runs up my arm and across my chest. My teeth start to chatter involuntarily.
"Is it supposed to be this cold, Doc?"
Kinnelson nods as he slides the needle from my arm. "I can be. Everyone's reaction is different. This is a considerably high dose, though."
The next vile he pulls out scares the shit out of me. I know what's coming. I really hope this premedication works, because I don't know if I can survive another round of the pain that came with it last time.
"Relax," Kinnelson can see the fear in my eyes. "The reaction should be far less severe, if you even have a reaction at all."
Far. Less. Severe. Those words don't sit too well with me.
"Doc," There's a quiver in my voice. "I don't think I can do this."
Kinnelson leans over and looks me right in the eyes. "You're infected and in very real danger of becoming one of them. If you don't do this, you will become one of them."
Reluctant, I hold out my forearm once again. He nods to me as he grabs his stethoscope and places the drum against my chest. His look is a bit less than happy.
"You need to calm down," he orders me. "This infection feeds on activity like this."
I close my eyes and breathe in as deep as I can, then slowly let it out. "Let's do this. If I wait any more, I'm gonna g
et hit with another anxiety attack."
Kinnelson hovers the syringe over my arm. "Alright, Michael. Three, two, one..."
The needle pierces my skin. I watch as the liquid drains out into my bloodstream and anticipate the worst. Kinnelson is, too. I can see a bead of sweat form on his brow.
My muscle tense of my own accord as I wait. Nothing.
"How do you feel, Michael?"
I wait for it a second longer.
"I'm fine," I reply, pleasantly surprised. "I think it worked."
Kinnelson smiles as he pats my shoulder. He reaches to the counter and grabs another syringe.
"I'm going to run another blood sample," he informs me. "I want to see how this dosage reacts against the infection."
I turn my head as the needle pierces my skin once again. I'm starting to feel like a pin cushion, but I know this is a necessary evil.
Kinnelson takes the vial and retreats to his microscope. He swabs the blood onto a slide and places it under the lens. Eye against the eyepiece, he adjusts the focus.
I wait.
As he concentrates on the slide, his temples begin to visibly pulsate. He grits his teeth as he pulls back and looks at me. I can already tell, it is not good.
"Bad?"
"No," Kinnelson replies, contrary to what I thought he would say. "It isn't attacking the infection as fast as I had hoped for, but it is attacking it."
I read into his words a little bit. "You're not happy with the way it is working, though."
He wipes his hands down his face. "When you panicked before the injection, I think that gave it enough fuel to build its defenses. Now, the antibiotics are having a hard time breaking through the walls."
I feel stupid. My dad was right. I should stop being so cynical about every little thing. Kinnelson told me it would work and I should have believed him right then and there.
Kinnelson peers into the microscope again, for a moment, then checks his watch.
"I need more supplies," his voice is hurried. "An hour and a half tops. Then I will be back."
He digs through his bag and pulls out another bottle. After perusing the label, he sticks another syringe in the bottle and extracts the contents.
The Final Day [Complete Edition] Page 13
