by John O'Brien
Through glimpses outside, Brown sees figures running through the circular glows of the street lights. They appear and vanish like moths. Several times, they run into the light cast through the expansive windows of the library, some halting to stare before moving on. It’s been hours since he heard the last scream, giving the silent shapes moving in the night a surreal nature. Clarke moves to the opposite side of the window, gazing onto the partially lit streets and field.
“We aren’t going to be able to sneak through them this time, are we?” Clarke asks.
“No, no we won’t,” Brown answers.
“So, God, what’s the plan?” Clarke chuckles.
“Be quiet. I’m thinking.”
“Well, we can’t stay here because we don’t have any food at all. Even if we did, it’s only a matter of time before we’re discovered,” Clarke comments.
“What part of ‘be quiet’ don’t you understand?”
“The be quiet part?” Clarke says.
“Obviously.”
They stare outside in silence, the campus building lights glaring in the darkness.
“It’s apparent that they aren’t leaving the campus, so we need to,” Brown mutters, breaking the silence.
“What’s that thing you said about Captain Obvious the last time?” Clarke jokingly queries.
“I don’t suppose you or numbnuts have vehicles nearby?” Brown asks, ignoring the chiding comments.
Clarke shakes her head.
“I didn’t think so. Mine is back at quarters, which means trekking through the thick of this shit. Walking to work was the only worthwhile thing I did all day.”
“Then, in all seriousness, what are we going to do?”
“There are Humvees parked down by the north dock. I figure we sneak out in the morning, head down the hill to the river, and make our way through the trees. Then, we’ll have to drive through this mess,” Brown says, still staring outside.
“And our overall plan after we manage that?”
“Colorado. I have a buddy who runs a private fishing reserve in the mountains there. It’s rather ideally set; remote with a river and fish hatchery. It’s a catch and release place, so the lakes and stream are well-stocked. We can survive for as long as we need to there,” Brown responds. “It’s that little part in between that I’m stuck on.”
“So, we drive all of the way through the country, possibly passing millions of infected?”
“I didn’t say it was a perfect plan, just a plan. For now, we need to get away from here, even if that means encountering others. We know that staying here is a bust. We just suspect that other places are. We stick to back roads, find food, and bounce our way across the country.”
“Okay, I’m game.”
Late that night, attempting to keep his mind occupied while keeping watch on the dozing cadets, Brown ponders his long term plans. He thinks about the survival of the infected. As far as he knows, they’ve only bitten others to pass on the virus. He hasn’t observed them eating anything and wonders if they even feel hunger.
If they do, what will they feed upon? Could they starve to death? Could this thing actually take care of itself in a matter of weeks?
He muses on those ideas, thinking that it’s entirely possible that the four of them, or any other survivors, only need to stay alive for three weeks. He doesn’t have any proof one way or the other, so for now, he’ll keep operating as if this is here to stay. But, it’s definitely something to watch out for. And, for that matter, do they sleep?
The night passes restlessly for all of them. They’ve been shoved through the door into a different reality and their minds are playing catch-up. The room becomes stuffy and begins smelling like a locker room, but not enough to push them out of the door except when the bladder demands attention.
Chapter Two
Springfield
October 6
Emily stares out through a crack in her bedroom curtains. Her aunt and uncle had kept her busy in the weeks since she was abandoned by the soldiers. Each day had been a different adventure: swimming pools, movies, playgrounds, and trips to the zoo. During the day, she’d kept so busy that she didn’t think about her parents. However, when night came and she’d lay in bed with nothing but her thoughts, she cried herself to sleep with memories of them.
That’s how every day went, with her returning home exhausted to ask the same question, “Did they call?” And every night, feeling the warm tears stream down her cheeks.
Until today. Today, all that changed, she thinks, looking down the street trying to find the source of a faint sound.
She had been eating a bowl of cereal and watching cartoons, waiting for her aunt and uncle to get out of bed. They had come home early from the pool yesterday because they had said that they weren’t feeling well. Her aunt and uncle had gone to bed almost as soon as they got home and Emily had to fix her own dinner, which comprised goldfish, popcorn, and more than a few Oreos. She even went to bed without the usual tucking in and peck on the cheek from her aunt.
The high-pitched scream coming from upstairs startled her, causing her to spill milk and cereal down the front of her shirt and pants. Ignoring the messy spill and the cartoon, she turned quickly and stared over the back of the couch. Another shriek came, reverberating throughout the house. Having heard the bad people scream like that before, Emily jumped up, spilling the remains of her cereal on the carpet. With her heart pounding, she bounded up the stairs.
At the top, she stopped and stared down the dimly lit hallway. Growling and shuffling came from behind the door at the end: her aunt and uncle’s. Torn between fear and concern, wondering what was happening, she stood, unable to move or make a decision. Powerless to help herself, Emily emitted a cry of surprise as a third scream came from behind the closed door. A solid thump on the wooden door stirred Emily from her stricken state. Holding her hand over her mouth to contain another cry, she raced to her room, closing the door behind her as quickly and quietly as she could.
All morning, she sat by her window, alternating her gaze from the outside to her door. Shrieks and pounding against her aunt and uncle’s door continued periodically. Many times, she thought about moving the dresser in the room against the door, as she had done back at her house. But the thought of making a sound, any sound at all, kept her glued to the spot on her bed. About an hour ago, she heard the door to the other room splinter; the pounding finally taking its toll. With loud shrieks echoing down the confined hallway, she heard what she assumed was her aunt and uncle run past her room, their slapping footsteps fading as they ran down the steps.
Muted screams seep through her bedroom window, drawing her out of her reverie. Looking through a crack in the curtains, she watches as a group of six people sprint down the avenue.
It’s happening again, she thinks, watching the bad people run by the house.
Sorrow mixes with fear as she stares through the glass panes, looking at every nook, every cranny, searching for any sign of the soldiers who saved her the last time. Deep down, she knows her search is in vain. There’s no way they could be in the same town. Even if they were, they wouldn’t have any idea where she was staying. Yet, she finds her gaze continually drawn outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of their familiar faces.
As the sun passes directly overhead and the day passes into the afternoon, Emily knows that she can’t wait in her room as she did previously. She understands that she not only needs to leave the house, but leave town. The escape with the soldiers from Middleton taught her that staying put was a death sentence. Who knows how long it will take for the soldiers to start bombing the town this time. Like the big man said, it’s only a matter of time and we don’t have a lot of it.
Or something like that, she thinks, trying her best to remember everything they did to get out of the city.
Getting out will be a lot harder than the last time. For one, she has no idea where to go, or how to get out of the city. At best, she knows the immediate neighborhood from the
few times that she’s visited. And then there are the soldiers that will be surrounding the town to consider.
I wish I was back at home. Then I’d know how to get out and where to go.
“Okay, what did the big soldier do?” she mutters, recalling their exodus. “We stayed out of sight, going through backyards. That was the most important thing. And quiet. He was always telling us to be quiet…don’t draw attention. I can do that. We had to cross a lot of streets. Each time, he crouched at the corner of a house to look and listen. If there was someone nearby, we went down the road and crossed there. He had us bring a lot of water, some food, blankets, and flashlights. I still have my pack. I can do this.”
But, where do I go? I have no idea which way to go. I think I know where the tall buildings are, so I’ll just go the other way. If I walk straight, I’ll eventually come to the edge of town. I still don’t understand why they avoided the helicopters. If I see any of those, I’m going to wave at them and get their attention. They won’t shoot a kid. Okay, I’m going to do this.
With one last look outside, she rises from her bed with a heavy sigh, both at her feeling of dread and the sense of getting started on a dangerous journey. The big man was always mumbling about “not having enough time,” and that thought sticks with her. The images of her city being bombed race through her mind, lingering memories of smoke, fire, and explosions. The last place she wants to be is in the city when they start.
What did the man say? Quickly, and quietly. Emily nudges her door open a crack and peeks into the gloomy hallway.
Her heart is pounding as she searches and listens for any sign that her aunt and uncle are still in the house. She has no doubt that they’ve become infected and turned into bad people. If they are still in the house, she won’t be able to get supplies for her escape. She’ll have to go out her bedroom window, shimmy down the drain pipe, and find food and water somewhere else.
The only sound coming from inside the house is the low volume of the TV downstairs. She had left it on in her mad dash up the stairs to her room. She opens the door a touch more, the hinges faintly creaking. As attuned as she is to any sound other than that coming from the TV, the hinges sound like they’re screeching so loud that they can be heard down the block.
With her heart jumping at the noise, she stands poised at the door, ready to slam it shut should she hear a scream coming from inside the house—or the sound of someone running up the stairs.
If that happens, I’m jumping out the window.
Slowly, she opens the door one inch at a time. Nothing. No sound of footsteps pounding on the steps. She pokes her head out the door, looking down the corridor in both directions. Nothing. Emily steps into the hall, her nerves strumming like a tightly strung rope in the wind, ready to jump back into her room at the slightest provocation.
A loud sound coming from downstairs sends a jolt of electricity through her body and steals her breath. She was prepared to jump back into her room if she heard the slightest noise, but instead, she freezes in place, her rapidly beating heart pounding through her ears. It takes a few seconds before she realizes that the sound is someone laughing on the TV.
I have to get out of the house, she thinks, moving fully into the hallway.
Step by step, she creeps down the dimly lit corridor, trying to be as quiet as she can.
The big soldier’s words really don’t make any sense. How can you be quick and quiet? she thinks, drawing closer to the top of the stairs.
On the top step, she kneels down to peek through the bannister to see more of the downstairs hall and living room. Other than the bottom half of the TV flickering through one scene after another, she can’t see anything else moving. At the bottom of the steps, she notes that the door is ajar.
They can get in, her mind screams.
Forgetting about anyone in the house, she runs down the stairs and closes the door, turning the latches for the locks. Her dash spurs her into motion, more from fear than anything else. Once you start running scared, then running becomes what you do. Grabbing her backpack, she races into the kitchen and begins dumping water bottles and all manner of food into it. She then dashes into the garage and packs a flashlight and whatever batteries she can find, without bothering to identify which kinds they are.
Oh yeah. A can opener and spoon, she thinks, running back into the kitchen. How could I forget those?
She remembers how the soldier cut holes in the blankets so that they could wear them without taking up backpack space. Rummaging through her full pack, she makes sure that she has her phone and solar charger.
Okay, I’m ready, she thinks, pondering what else she should take. A knife. I’m going to want a knife. I need some kind of weapon and I don’t know where any guns are.
Satisfied that she has everything that she’ll need to survive, she heads to the front door and begins unlocking it.
Oh. I remember the man always went out through the back door, she thinks, relocking the door.
She looks out through the small panes of the back door. Seeing nothing in the backyard, she opens the door. Emily steps outside, feeling very alone and scared. Faint shrieks coming from all directions let her know that she’s not alone. It was easier the last time. The man always seemed to know what to do and when.
Walking along the edge of the yard next to the tall wooden fence surrounding it, she comes to the back fence and stares upward. Stretching her arms, she still can’t reach the top. Before, she had help getting over the tall fences. Here, she’ll have to figure out another way to do it without making too much noise.
Heading back inside, she grabs a step stool her aunt used in the kitchen to reach the upper shelves. Making her way back to the fence, she sets the stool up and scales the steps. She can reach the top, but knows there’s no way she can climb the fence with her pack on. Removing it, she tosses it over, hearing it hit the ground on the other side with a thump. Grasping the top railing, she pushes and pulls upward, her feet scrambling against the side of the fence. She manages to get to the top, lying over the railing on her stomach. Bringing her legs over, she lands on the other side next to her pack and looks quickly around the yard.
Well, that wasn’t quick or quiet, she thinks, picking up her pack and donning it. I’ll just have to use shorter fences.
She tiptoes around the side of the yard, listening for anyone who might be near. Slowly, as she remembers the soldier doing, she creeps up to the side of the house. Crouching behind a bush, she looks as far as she can down each side of the street. In the distance, she hears screams. However, they don’t seem close and she doesn’t see anyone in view.
Emily remembers the big man saying to run across any opening as quickly as you can. Gathering her nerves, she adjusts her pack and begins running across the lawn, past the sidewalk, and out into the street.
As she dashes across, she looks to the left and right, hoping to find that she’s alone. Gazing back to the house across from her, a blur of movement from the side yard catches her attention. Her heart catches in her throat as five bad people emerge from the side of the yard.
She skids to a halt and freezes. She wants to turn around and run the other way, but her legs refuse to respond. Her knees go weak and she feels the warmth from liquid running down her legs.
There aren’t any screams…no snarls or growls. There’s just the slap of their feet on the pavement. Emily clearly sees the madness in their gazes as their eyes meet and they race straight at her. She screams and throws her arms in front of her face. Thoughts vanish, leaving behind only the sound of the heavy pounding of footfalls. Without being able to help it, she peeks over the top of her arms.
Emily feels the brushes of the pack on her arms as they race past. Her heart solidly beats against her ribs as it never has before. It takes her a few seconds to realize that they ran by her without ripping into her. Confused, she drops her arms and turns around to stare after the group and sees them rapidly vanish around the side yard she just left.
&nb
sp; Still amazed to be alive, and feeling puzzled, she starts toward the side of the house she was running to. Dropping to the ground behind several shrubs, she starts to sob. Never in her life has she been so scared. In addition to the intense adrenaline coursing through her body, a variety of emotions well up—joy, fear, confusion. Her thoughts are chaotic, racing from one topic to the next, until they begin to settle down.
Am I invisible? she thinks, wiping the tears from her cheeks No, they looked right at me. Maybe they don’t attack kids. No, that can’t be right. I’m pretty sure my mom was one of them and she attacked and bit me. Why did they leave me alone?
Her heart calms down and her thoughts begin to center. Regardless of what happened, she knows that she needs to keep moving. Any time now the helicopters and jets will come and start bombing the city. Gathering herself, she heads into the next backyard and scales a lower fence. Nearing the corner of the house to check on the street, she’s surprised by another, larger group. Fear grips her heart and her stomach clenches, but they also look at her as they run past. As with the previous group, she stares confusedly after them.
I’m not invisible, but they aren’t attacking me, she thinks, relieved.
For some reason, the confusion she feels is almost scarier than having to avoid them. It’s not that she isn’t relieved, it’s just that she doesn’t understand. And things she doesn’t understand bother her. Scared and confused, with no idea where to go other than out of town, she steals a bicycle leaning against a garage and pedals away.
Chapter Three
West Point, New York
October 6
Early morning light filters in through the window. The area is quiet and the field is empty of any infected. Brown has no doubt that they’re around, but for the moment, they seem to have the general area to themselves.
Too many unanswered questions remain. Will they migrate or will they remain in a centralized area? How far away can they pick up a scent? Can they track old scent trails? As far as he knows, they are mostly drawn to sound, but he’s witnessed their actions enough to know that they do sniff the air.
