The Outbreak

by Atherton, P. A.

  With a hard kick, he knocked open the front door and saw the gate ahead. Behind, Harry was approaching fast. Still not in sight yet, but that wouldn't last long. In the yard, a prison bus sat crashed into a guard tower, its dented nose embedded in the concrete structure.

  He darted towards it, shocked at his luck. No infected, no Harry, nobody

  Another bang, and a puff of dirt that kicked up two feet ahead of him stole his optimism.

  “I seeee yooouuu!” Another bang, this one shattering a window on the bus. He ran to the door and pried it open. The door was stuck, and the sharp metal edges cut deep into his hands.

  Panicking, he summoned one last burst of strength and the door folded open. He flopped into the driver's seat, and taking a look in the rear-view mirror, jumped. In the gated rear of the bus, a crowd of infected inmates stood. Excited by the action, they snarled and gnashed their teeth wildly, pounding on the gate. He grit his teeth and ignored them.

  Tony turned the key that was still dangling from the ignition and let out a whoop as the bus started. Another bullet shot past his face, breaking the side mirror. With a swift motion, he slammed into reverse and pulled the nose free of the tower.

  With a quick turn, he charged for the main gate, and braced himself. The steel gate broke open and the bus bounced as it went through. He let out another whoop of victory. Freedom.

  Harry watched the bus tear through the front gate. Not on my watch. He chambered another round and held the butt of the gun to his shoulder. With a quick readjustment of the scope, he aimed his shot carefully. Taking a deep breath, he fired.

  A hit. The back tire blew out, and the bus careened back and forth violently. He smiled and walked back inside. Silence. He frowned, pausing at the door.

  A moment passed, followed by a satisfying crash in the distance hit his ear. He grinned and walked inside.

  The steering wheel wrenched free of his grip and the bus swung side to side. The inmates behind clamored noisily and he closed his eyes as the bus turned on its side and tumbled.

  Tony opened his eyes slowly. Every part of his body ached. He looked around, mind hazy and weak. The bus. He crawled to his feet. The bus was upside down and broken glass and twisted metal surrounded him.

  Behind, the once secure gate was broken loose, and the infected inmates pried at the edges. He knew he only had moments before they were free. Scrambling through the driver side window, he hit the asphalt hard and took off running with a limp.

  His left arm was throbbing, and he was pretty sure it was broken. The sound of rapid footsteps from behind shook him, and with a turn of his head, he saw a swarm of infected charge at him, pouring out of the overturned bus like ants from an anthill.

  He pumped his legs harder, and knew he was doomed. The first body collided with him and he toppled forward. Throwing his hands out wildly, he still caught the ground face first. A sharp pain in his shoulder signaled the first bite, as his assailant sunk it's sharp teeth in, tearing loose a chunk of flesh. Blood gushed hot from the wound and he rolled over to try and knock it off of him, but weakly fell under another body, followed by yet another.

  One of them closed in on his throat, and his mangled scream was cut short as his vocal cords were torn loose. Unconsciousness washed over him, and the inmates finished their grisly job.

  Harry walked back to Cell Block Two, which he had previously cleared out. Reverently, he placed his rifle across an empty cot, next to his other assembled weapons.

  A grumble in his rotund belly signaled meal time. He double-checked his pistol and reholstered it, before turning and trotting off towards the cafeteria.

  The thrill of the chase always made him hungry. When he reached his destination, he fired up the grills, and popped open the door to the freezer. The strong, gnawing cold stung his exposed skin and he quickly grabbed a couple frozen burger patties.

  When the outbreak first hit, and the power failed, he had to think long and hard where to redirect the backup generator to. The cafeteria and the cell blocks kept their power, and he left the rest of the prison to rot. The armory was already looted and he had no need for the medical wing yet.

  The strong aroma of sizzling burgers hit his nose, and he flipped them over. Squirting a thick glob of mayo onto the buns, and a double dose of cheese, he was satisfied with the preparation. When the burgers finished grilling, he finished assembling the

  sandwiches, and promptly devoured them.

  He ate with the zeal of a starving POW, although his massive gut showed that he was far from starvation. After finishing the meal, he leaned back in his chair, and sighed. As much fun as he was having now, he genuinely was sorry to see the world fall apart. His work as a prison guard was easily his favorite job. It was full of opportunities to inflict pain.

  Ever since childhood, he had enjoyed creating suffering in others. It started with animals, crucifying cats, drowning dogs, and stomping on mice. Then he moved towards the other children, pulling their hair, hitting them with sticks, stealing their toys. Didn't take long before he was a master at avoiding trouble. He perfected the art of lying and subterfuge, inflicting pain without leaving a trace.

  After going through several dead end jobs, he finally landed a position as a guard at the prison. He was never happier. Beating the inmates was overlooked for the most part, and all he had to do was lie and claim they instigated the fight to get off the hook. Now, though, it was all over, and soon he knew he'd run out of inmates to torture. When they were all gone, he had no idea what he was going to do with himself.

  After contemplating his past for some time, he headed towards solitary confinement, where his favorite prisoner lay strapped down. When he arrived, he gave the door a sharp rap. A scream from inside greeted him, and he smiled. It was time.

  Immanuel stared at the ceiling, and, not for the first time, wished death would take him sooner. He had lived a hard life, but these last weeks he had come to know such pain, that he could never have imagined worse.

  His naked body was strapped to the cheap lumpy cot with thick, leather belts, and his skin was covered in a myriad of scars and cuts. The flesh on the bottom of his feet had been burned and beaten often, and he thanked god that he couldn't see them. Everyday, that fat pig came in, and poked, prodded, sliced, and burned, for hours.

  Then he would force him to eat rotting food, after injecting him with a series of drugs, that kept him from vomiting, and kept him painfully awake and alert.

  He rarely slept anymore, due to the pain and the drugs. So he lay there, trying his hardest to think about anything, anything but his current misery. Mostly he just prayed, prayed to the god he had never believed in that something would change.

  A sharp rap on the door echoed through the tiny room, and he let out a scream.

  “Please, no, please, just kill me!” Harry's smiling face popped around from behind the door, and then he stepped in fully, already holding his favorite knife. It was going to be a long day. A very long day.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Breaking and Entering

  James dug his fingers between the wooden boards, struggling to get a grip.

  “Let's just use the crowbar, man.” “ Naw, it's too loud. Might attract attention.” James continued examining the bar's front window, looking for any gap in the barricade. “Screw this. Let's try the side door.”

  Keith nodded and the pair walked to the side of the building, pausing briefly at the mouth of the alleyway. The alley was shrouded in darkness, despite the bright sun hanging on the horizon. James took a cautious step forward, and Keith followed.

  The ground was littered in newspapers and broken glass and they tried to move silently around the debris. It was slow going and James started to sweat. By the time they were at the halfway point between the side door and the alley entrance, he stopped.

  “Something doesn't feel right.” He whispered. “I feel like we're being watched.” “ I know what you mean, but I don't see -” Keith paused and turned his head. Standing s
till in the street behind them was a lone figure.

  They all looked at each other blankly for a moment, before the figure rushed forward, revealing itself to be a man in tattered clothing. Blood dripped from an open wound in his belly and his left eye had popped out of its socket, swinging back and forth like a broken pendulum.

  Keith panicked, drew his pistol out of his waistband, and opened fire. The first three shots missed and the fourth ripped clean through it's shoulder. It shrugged off the attack and tackled him. The pair fell to the ground, hard, and James remained frozen, watching his friend feebly try to push off his attacker.

  He finally snapped to his senses and drew his gun, but paused, unwilling to fire and risk hitting his friend. With a hard kick, his foot connected with the man's head and he rolled off of Keith. The man lay still for a moment, before starting to squirm while Keith

  scrambled to his feet. The pair unloaded their guns into the prone body, the shots echoing loudly in the alley. By the time the body stopped twitching, both of their pistols clicked empty and James swore under his breath.

  “I only got one clip left. Fuck. What about you?”

  Keith felt around in his pocket. “I got two.” They both ejected the empty clips and reloaded. Turning back towards the side door, they continued their advance before freezing again, as the sound of laughter rang out.

  “Ha! You insignificant little shits are mine now!” Their eyes darted upwards and a silhouetted figure was framed in the window upstairs. The voice was familiar and Keith yelled.

  “Dante, is that you?”

  A gunshot called out in reply and Keith collapsed. “Shit. He shot me!” James started shooting back, opening fire on the window. Dante darted out of view and Keith started dragging himself out of the alleyway. “Help me, man.”

  He continued dragging himself and James' pistol clicked empty again. Cursing, he pocketed the gun and started to lift his fallen friend. Keith grabbed him by the shoulder and they started running out of the alleyway into the street.

  Dante shot twice more, hitting Keith again in the stomach. James grabbed Keith's gun and aimed, before his eyes opened wide, and he ran out of the way. Dante stared, confused, before a loud crash echoed out, and he saw an overturned bus slide by, smashing into Keith's body. He let out a laugh and pulled his head inside.

  James saw the bus flip and panicked. He left his friend behind and took off running. A hardware store was ahead, the window broken in by a crashed police cruiser. He leaped through the window and navigated in the darkness to the back room. Closing the door shut behind him, he flicked the light switch. Darkness still.

  Feeling around blindly, he started grabbing whatever he could find and piling it against the door. When the pile had grown too large and unwieldy, he stopped and fell against the wall, panting heavily.

  His mind drifted to thoughts of Keith. He had to be dead now. And it was all Dante's fault. He was determined to kill the man now, slow and painful.

  The sound of running and shrieking outside made him freeze. He listened intently, heart thudding rapidly in his chest. The minutes trickled by with agonizing slowness and when silence finally came, he let out a deep sigh of relief.

  The adrenaline started to fade and he felt weary. Laying down in the pitch blackness, he drifted off to sleep.

  James woke up in a cold sweat, staring out into the darkness. It was a nightmare, but he couldn't recall the content of the dream. He stood up and fumbled towards the door. It took several minutes to clear the makeshift barricade away, but he finally succeeded and opened the door. The light blinded him for a moment and he crept out into the empty store. Shelves were overturned, tools and lumber laying scattered about. He walked carefully around an aisle covered in nails and screws, and peeked out the shattered window. The sun was beginning to set, which meant trouble. It was always hard defending yourself at night, with nothing to illuminate the infected. Shooting was almost a waste of time without light to see by.

  The streets were empty though, with the exception of a few corpses and the overturned bus. He hesitated for a moment, before deciding to make a run for it. His hideaway, in Keith's apartment complex, was nearby. The thought of Keith sent a stab of regret through him, but he brushed it aside and started to jog off. He reached his destination quickly and uneventfully, and climbed up the fire escape ladder, the only way in. The front door was completely barricaded and the cheap wooden staircases to the lower levels had been hacked apart with axes by him and his dead friend.

  After ascending the ladder, he pulled it up behind him and climbed through the open window, into the shabby apartment. The place had a yeasty smell to it, from the mountain of empty beer cans piled high in the corner. He gagged slightly from the smell and began to scoop up piles of cans and throw them out the window. They clattered loudly and he winced at the echoing sound.

  Finally, he gave up cleaning and flopped on the couch. He tossed a pair of headphones on and blared loud rap music until the batteries finally died out and the CD slowly spun to a halt. Bored, he threw the headphones aside and made a mental note to loot some more batteries next time he was out.

  Peering out the window, he sighed. Night had fallen and he was alone. He mourned the loss of his friend again and renewed his vows of revenge. One day soon, Dante. Your time will come, and you'll regret all you've done.

  Walking over to the front door, he pulled a fresh case of beer off the stack and popped a can open. By the time he reached his sixth one, he had a decent buzz worked up and he spent the rest of the day fantasizing about killing Dante. Torturing him first, until he begged for mercy.

  Sometime during the early hours of morning, before the first rays of dawn shone out, unconsciousness washed over him, and he slept a long, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Moving Out

  Amir stood up and began rolling up his prayer mat. After setting it in the corner of the dimly lit storage room he turned to the others. “Listen, we need to get out of here. We're almost out of food, and I'm tired of sitting here in the dark.”

  Luc looked up. “I don't know. It's dangerous out there, and safe in here.” “ Safety doesn't matter when you're starving.” Amir laughed grimly. “My, how the tables have turned. I thought you were the one who wanted us to leave so badly?”

  “We're not starving yet.” “ No, but soon. And then what?” “What, when we're too weak from hunger to fight off the infected?”

  “We'll go then.”

  “No, well -” Clive stood up and pulled his pistol out, double-checking his ammo supply. “No, we'll go now. Amir's right, and there's no point in us sticking around here any longer than

  necessary. The only question is, where do we go? There's four of us, and I'm the only one with a gun, so wherever we go, it needs to be close. We can't defend against the infected for long.”

  “ My home is nearby.” Amir walked towards the door, gesturing outside. “I live right on Birch. We could walk there in less than five minutes.”

  “ Alright, if nobody has any better ideas, I say we go to Amir's house. Well? What about you, Alice? You haven't spoken yet.”

  Alice lay still for a moment, her back to the group, before rolling over and sitting up. “It seems we have no choice but to leave, and if Amir's home is close, I think we should head that way.”

  “ It's decided, then.” Clive opened the door to the storage room, and poked his head out. “It's all clear.”

  Stepping out, he surveyed the damage to the pharmacy briefly before moving on. Most of the shelves had been knocked over and boxes of over-the-counter drugs lay scattered across the floor. He stepped over them and opened the front door cautiously, cringing at the sound of the entrance bell chiming.

  Outside, the carnage was complete. The downtown street was destroyed, every storefront broken in, cars crashed into streetlights and buildings. It looked like the aftermath of an intense riot and Clive sighed deeply.

  The others followed closely behind and as a group t
hey advanced into the open. Luc carried a bag full of pills and Clive shot him a brief look.

  “Amir, which way?” “ Left. Down to Birch, and then swing a right. I'm just three houses in, the white one with the red door. Can't miss it.”

  They walked in unison, Clive leading the group, pistol clutched tightly in his hands. It was quiet. Too quiet, Clive thought to himself, laughing silently at how silly the old cliche sounded, despite the gravity of the situation.

  A loud grinding sound, followed by a crash, echoed out in the distance. He tried to estimate where it came from and guessed it was two blocks over. They all paused, and waited.

  Fear and panic soon struck them, as a mob of running bodies came charging into view. They were all dressed in prison uniforms and they howled as they approached them.

  “Run!” Luc yelled.

  The three took off running, but Clive hesitated a moment, considering whether or not to fire. Reality quickly struck him and he realized he had no chance of hitting them all. He turned and followed the others, pumping his legs as hard as he could.

  Clive looked back, as the mob gained on them. “We'll never make it all the way there! Turn into Hassan's Grocery!”

  Amir stopped and pivoted, darting left into the nearby store. He held the door open and waved the others in. Luc ran past, shaking his head, and continued down the street. “Luc, where are you going?” Amir called out, but Luc just kept running, clutching his pill bag tightly.

  Clive kept pace with Alice and paused briefly to fire a couple rounds into the crowd. Two of the figures went down and another tripped over the fallen bodies. He turned back, ushered Alice through the door and followed behind. Amir shut the door behind them and locked it.

  The door was sturdy and barred, and the windows had metal shutters still pulled down. Apparently the store wasn't opened the day of the outbreak, and they all breathed a sigh of relief. Their relief was cut short when several bodies all piled against the door, pounding and scraping against the metal. Once it became apparent that there was no way they'd break in, they all let loose another sigh of relief and sat down on the tiled floor.