The Outbreak

by Atherton, P. A.

  “Well, we're safe, for now.”

  “But what about Luc?” Alice looked at Clive, and he lowered his head.

  “I'm afraid Luc made the wrong choice. He's on his own, now.” A squeaking sound came from behind the counter, and they all turned their heads to look. A shadowy figure limped into view, and froze briefly, before snarling and leaping over the counter, knocking the cash register over in the process. Clive raised his gun and unloaded three shots into it. The body fell to the ground with a thud. He stood up and cautiously walked over to the fallen body. It twitched once, and was still.

  He rolled over the body. It's face was contorted in agony and his long, graying beard was soaked in dried blood. Clive instantly recognized the man as the owner of the store.

  “It's Hassan.” Amir walked over and let out a cry of sadness. “I knew Hassan, he was a good man. It's no way for a man like him to die like this.”

  “I'm afraid we can't bury him. We'll need to dispose of his body out back.”

  “Not until I say a prayer over him.”

  Clive nodded, and Amir bowed low, mumbling a rapid stream of words under his breath.

  “Are you alright?” Clive turned to Alice, who stood frozen, staring at the dead body.

  She shook her head. “No, I can't take this anymore.”

  “Don't worry. We'll be safe here.”

  “I know, it's just... it's just been a long couple of weeks. I think I just need to rest.”

  “That's a good idea. Go find someplace to lay down, while Amir and I take care of Hassan.”

  She nodded, and walked into the back room. Clive watched Amir and whispered a little prayer of his own. He didn't really believe in God, but he figured, these days, it was better to hedge your bets. You never know what might happen.

  Luc ran, his lungs already sore. He turned his head and saw the had mob split into two, one half pounding against the grocery store, the other half following him. Tears of panic and fear streamed down his cheeks and he pushed himself as fast as he could move.

  The mob was gaining rapidly, though, and it was only moments before Luc fell to the ground, face first, a heavy body on top of him. He felt rough hands grab his head and smash his face repeatedly into the asphalt. Too stunned to react, he just weakly tried to cushion the blows with his hands, but soon another body toppled over him, and another.

  The first bite sent a searing pain down his arm and the scratches and bites came too quickly to even notice. All he felt was the pain. Every part of him hurt and he grew dizzy, as the man on top of him continued pounding his skull into the ground. Darkness soon washed over him, and he thought no more.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Canned Food

  Eileen awoke. She sat upright and banged her head into the pipe overhead, as she had managed to do everyday for the past two weeks. She hated sleeping in the crawlspace, but she didn't feel safe anywhere else. Pushing aside the ceiling tiles, she carefully descended to the floor below, using the teacher's desk as a step stool.

  Her classroom was stripped bare. The thought of all her old students and the senseless loss filled her with pain and regret. She tried to forget it all, but she just couldn't shake the memories.

  Her stomach let out a little growl and she rubbed her belly. Leaving the classroom, she walked down the abandoned hallways in the dark. Even though she had a flashlight, she needed no light to navigate by; these halls were her home, and she knew them by heart. Turning left towards the cafeteria, she walked to the storage room and debated what she wanted to eat.

  She chanced a quick peek into the cooler and quickly shut the door, the stench of rotting food making her stomach turn. A peek into the fruit bin was equally disappointing. The bananas were a dark shade of black and brown, the apples nearly mush, and the oranges soft and blotchy. Canned food it was, then.

  Debating between fruit medley and pears, she eventually decided to pop open one of each, using the sizable industrial can opener to pop the lids off. Cranking the hand-operated tool was tiring and her arm felt like gelatin by the time she'd finished. At least she had some sweet, syrupy fruit to thank her for a job well done.

  She took a bite and tried to shake the memories from her mind. No use reminiscing about a past that was gone forever. There were no more students, no more book reports, no more homework. Nothing from her old life remained, except for death and decay. Things had changed, and they would only go from bad to worse.

  In the distance she heard voices. Panicking, she turned to leave, knocking a can of fruit to the floor in the process, the sound of the metal can clanging to the floor echoing loudly in her ears. She froze, and then bolted up the storage shelves, lifting herself up into the crawlspace above the kitchen. Heart pounding furiously, she laid still, and waited.

  John, Paul, and Isaac crept down the hallway in tight formation. The brothers, being better shots, carried the two pistols, and Isaac carried the flashlight, shining it brightly before them. The silence was deafening and they talked aimlessly about nothing, anything to break the unsettling calm.

  They all froze as the sound of clattering metal echoed in the distance. John and Paul aimed their guns at opposing ends of the hallway, Isaac quickly flashing the light back and forth. A few tense moments passed and they slowly continued their advance, this time in complete silence. As they reached an intersection, John raised his hand, as if to ask "which way?" Isaac pointed to a sign that read "Cafeteria", and Paul smirked.

  Inching into the cafeteria, they felt stifled by the intense and total darkness that enveloped them. The light they carried seemed

  insignificant, like trying to fight the tide with a bucket. They made their way towards the back and entered the kitchen. The large, industrial dishwasher reflected brightly as the light swept over it, briefly casting a glow across the room, and they got a clear image. The storage room was to the left and they walked in. Paul almost slipped across the floor and cursed under his breath. Sticky syrup glistened on the floor in Isaac's light and the three stared at the can that seemed to cause the sound they heard earlier.

  They waited for a moment, before Isaac spoke up.

  "Enough nonsense. Load up the packs, and let's go." The three quickly tossed the large,

  commercial cans of food in their pack, no frills labels identifying the contents. John's pack split open at the seam, sending the cans clattering to the floor. They all froze again, then resumed loading the remaining packs.

  John grabbed Isaac's bag and slung it around his shoulder. "I'll take this one." Isaac nodded and they started their advance out of the dark cafeteria.

  She watched them from between the cracks of the ceiling tiles. Three men. The two younger ones carried guns and the older man had a black Mag-Lite. They carried hiking backpacks, like the kind she used to use when camping in the Appalachians.

  The older man was probably in his fifties. He looked homeless, wearing an unmatched hodge-podge of clothes, brown trenchcoat over a torn blue sweatshirt, the elastic bands around the wrist torn and holey. Sloppily patched cargo pants completed the ensemble. His messy, long gray beard gave him a wild, crazed look, but a softness around his eyes betrayed his calm.

  The other two were younger, probably in their mid-twenties. Both were tall, at least six feet or so, one noticeably taller than the other. The taller one was handsome, with long, wavy brown hair tied back in a ponytail, and a sharp, rugged jawline, accentuated by stubble. He was dressed sloppily, in jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt.

  The shorter one, though, was the one that really caught her eye. He had a tall, lean build, and he too was handsome, even more so than the other. Dressed surprisingly well, he looked like he would have been at home on the cover of GQ. She almost laughed to see someone who cared so much about their appearance amidst the disaster. His hair was straight and long, almost shoulder length, neatly framing the delicate features of his face.

  She toyed with the idea of revealing herself to them, but the same old fears crept back up and she remained sil
ent. When their bag broke open and the cans fell with a bang, her heart leaped in her chest and she almost fell forward through the ceiling tiles.

  She watched them walk away and felt panicky. A strange determination crept through her and she knew that she had to follow them. The weeks of loneliness had taken their toll and she craved human company, while at the same time being terrified of it. So, as they walked down the hallways, she quietly crawled down the shelves out of the ceiling and tiptoed after them. Always staying out of eyesight, but just within range of their footsteps, she followed. When she finally left the building and breathed fresh air for the first time in weeks, she was overwhelmed. She debated running back inside, to safety and shelter and familiarity, but continued after them instead.

  After the turn at Walden and Eighth, she finally saw the carnage on the streets and threw up hard, the contents of her stomach splattering on the asphalt. Littering the road were corpses in various stages of

  dismemberment, and the image of one man clutching his own intestines in his death throes burned itself into her memory. When she finished retching, she stood upright and looked around. She had lost them.

  Alone on the street, without a trace of the three men. Turning back to the school, a car crash echoed in the distance, followed shortly after by a horrifying scream. And, as if the scream were the cue they waited for, a mob of two dozen bodies came charging at her, low moans and high-pitched shrieks escaping their lips. She screamed. Unable to move, the terror paralyzed her every muscle and every fiber of her being cried out in fear. She stood, and they came.

  John climbed up the ladder, each rung a struggle. The pack was heavy and lumpy, the hard metal cans pressing into his back. When he finally reached the top, he swung the pack over and flopped to the ground, panting. Paul followed, with Isaac at his heels.

  The three lay quietly for a moment, before John emptied the packs out and they admired their loot. Eleven large commercial cans in all, ranging from kidney beans to peaches. "Not bad for a days haul." Paul said.

  "Not bad at all." Isaac nodded in agreement. "It was easy this time, but we can't ever let our guard down. Next time we might not be so lucky."

  Paul laughed. "That wasn't luck, that was all skill, baby." He spun his pistol around like a cowboy, and blew across the end of it.

  "Careful with that damn thing! What if you accidentally shot someone, showing off like a damned fool?"

  "Don't worry, gramps, the safety was on."

  Isaac shot him a stern glare, and Paul withered a bit. "Alright, sorry. I know I shouldn't mess around with stuff like that, I just feel so... I don't know. Powerful. Capable. Like maybe we'll actually get through this thing."

  "Don't let our success go to your head. Remember, we didn't really do anything. There was no attack, no -"

  Isaac was cut off by a screech, and a loud crash in the distance. They all sat in silence for a moment, and a blood-curdling scream shot through the air.

  "What the fuck was -" Another scream from below, and they all looked down from the rooftop to see a lone woman standing on the street below, and a mob of infected charging at her.

  Paul turned to them. "We gotta save her!"

  John nodded and Paul swung his legs over the ledge, sliding down the ladder several rungs at a time. He landed firing, dropping two bodies in his first few shots and knocking the legs out from under a third. John dropped down behind and the two stood side by side, shielding the woman, unloading their clips into the advancing crowd.

  But their numbers were too great and the first of them collided with John. He fell back to the ground, landing hard. It chomped its teeth violently and John struggled in its grip, struggling to push the heavy body off of him.

  "Paul!" he screamed. Paul kicked out, smashing the man in the face, and John rolled out from underneath just as another body fell on top of him. At that moment, a growling, fat nun, clothes caked in blood, tackled Paul and he fell onto the asphalt, a burst of pain shooting up his back. He struggled to reach his fallen gun, but it remained just out of his reach.

  The woman finally snapped out of her paralyzed terror and ran for the ladder. She climbed the first few rungs and felt a strong grip on her ankle yank her downwards. She fell backwards, arm twisting underneath her. She landed hard and felt the bone snap. With a scream, she flailed her limbs every which way, trying to buy herself some room, but every blow landed ineffectually on the weaselly man, who stared blankly at her through bleeding eyes.

  Isaac skidded down the ladder and landed with a thud. Pulling the nun off of Paul, he swung his fist into her chin and it connected hard. The nun reeled back and charged back at him. A bullet blew off a chunk of her head and Isaac turned to see Paul climbing back to his feet, gun still aimed at the falling body.

  Another few shots erupted and he started shooting into the thick of the crowd, as Isaac started pulling bodies off of John. Finally back on his feet, the two brothers again stood side by side, unloading shot after shot into the mob and their numbers finally thinned out. Isaac started carrying the injured woman up the ladder and when the last infected fell, John and Paul followed.

  Isaac lifted her over the ledge with a groan and gently set her down, breathing heavily.

  "I'm getting too old for this."

  Paul and John finally reached the top and they fell to the floor, exhausted.

  "God... damn..." Paul sputtered between gasps.

  John stood up and walked to the woman.

  "Are you okay?" He held out his hand and helped her up.

  She nodded weakly and gestured to her arm. "I think it's broken."

  He looked at it for a second, gently touching it, and she winced. "Yeah, that's a pretty nasty break you got there. I'm going to have to set the bone, okay. I won't lie. This will hurt, bad. But you'll be alright. What's your name?"

  "Eileen." "Okay, Eileen, I'm going to need you to bite down on this." He said as he took off his leather belt.

  "Now, I'm going to do this on three. Ready?"

  She nodded, sobbing lightly. "One... two... three!" He snapped her arm firmly and she let out a terrible scream before bursting into tears.

  "Paul, go grab my first aid kit, will you?" Paul nodded and ran inside. He returned with a small leather bag and a half empty bottle of vodka. John fixed her arm in a makeshift sling and handed her four aspirin and the bottle.

  "Take these." She tossed back the pills and washed them down with a gulp of liquor. Her face twisted in disgust, and then she downed another swig before passing him the bottle.

  "Thank you." She said weakly. "No problem, Eileen. My name's John. And this is my brother Paul, and our good friend Isaac. Relax. You're safe now."

  She burst into tears again and laid down on the floor, the sun overhead shining bright into her eyes.

  "What were you doing out there on the streets, all by yourself?" Isaac asked.

  "I was... following you three."

  "What?" "I was in the school, when you came into the cafeteria. Hiding in the ceiling."

  "Clever girl." Isaac nodded. "Well, whatever your reason for following, you're more than welcome to join us. We may not have much, but we have shelter, and food. And a small amount of ammunition."

  "Even smaller now." Paul said, counting bullets. "We're down to thirty eight rounds, between our two guns."

  John grimaced. “Damn. “ If only there was a pawn shop or sporting goods store nearby, then we could replenish our ammo supply."

  "Yeah, but there's not, so get over it." John got up and walked over to the ledge, counting the bodies below. "It took us twenty nine shots to take out a little more than a dozen infected."

  "Not bad." Isaac said.

  "Not bad, but not exactly good, either. Assuming we can maintain the same kill rate with our current supply, we might be able to handle sixteen, maybe eighteen infected. And there are thousands more of them out there, in our city alone. If we manage to get out of here..." He trailed off, temporarily losing his train of thought.

 
; Paul stared at the ground below. "Listen, I think we need to consider an ammo run." "What are you, crazy?" John said. "We'd be lucky to get out alive, and all for bullets? Risking our lives for food is one thing, risking them for ammo is another."

  "Not going after ammo would be risking our lives. You're so fucking naive sometimes, John."

  "Don't try and pull seniority on me, we're only two years apart in age." "Seniority's got nothing to do with it, just a healthy dose of reality, not that pampered little

  -"

  "Enough fighting!" Isaac's deep voice boomed out. "Save your energy for them, out there. Life's too short to waste on this petty bullshit, especially these days."

  Paul looked at the ground. "Sorry."

  "No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -"

  "Don't worry about it, it was my fault." Eileen got up, gingerly touching her rapidly bruising arm. "No, I'm sorry." The other three all turned to look at her. "If it wasn't for me, you guys wouldn't be in this mess."

  Paul laughed. "Listen, we'd be in this mess no matter what. There's no escaping it. Besides, what good are bullets if you don't shoot them. And one more living human being, well, let's just say: score one for the home team. Every uninfected person we can save makes everything else worthwhile."

  John and Isaac quietly nodded.

  "Anyway, let's head on inside, and smoke a joint."

  John grinned. "Now you're talking." The three headed inside and passed the night smoking, talking, and giggling like mad children until, one by one, sleep claimed them, and they all slept their first peaceful night of sleep in weeks. Maybe things would change. Maybe there was still hope.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Stragglers

  Dante watched the bus skid by, splattering Keith's prone body, and let out a grim laugh.

  That'll show 'em. He knew James would still be a future problem, but figured it was best to worry about that when the time came. Besides, the man was a terrible shot.