It seemed to take him a great deal of drinking to achieve the same effect and he began to worry that his tolerance was raising too rapidly. He didn't even want to think of what would happen if he ran out of alcohol. Detoxing in the middle of his current crisis would be disastrous.
To take his mind off of the unthinkable, inevitable outcome, he rummaged through the cardboard box on the floor, double-checking the supply of food that he would bring to the priest the next day. Everything was in order. There was enough food to last the priest a week if he ate conservatively and Dante still had an ample amount of food left in the cupboards. It would be another week or more before he had to scavenge for more food.
He took a long swig from the bottle and collapsed in his armchair, soon falling fast asleep.
Either minutes or hours passed, he couldn't tell, before he was awakened by a loud roll of thunder and he opened his eyes to see a blinding white light before him. Squinting, he tried to identify the source of the light. A voice boomed out, almost deafening him.
“Dante! Why do you cower before me?”
“I cower before no one. Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
“God?”
“You've let me down, Dante. I had chosen you to be an extension of my Will on earth and you've failed to complete your task.” “Lord, how have I failed you? Tell me, and I'll correct whatever mistake I've made!” The voice was silent for a moment, and the light turned dark. In the midst of the light, a shadowy figure appeared and Dante stared on in fear.
“Are you here to kill me?” Silence still. The figure was small, like a child, and he braced himself. But the figure made no threatening motion and calm descended on Dante.
“ There is an innocent to be saved. You have judged the guilty, but do not judge in haste, for there is Good still left in this world and you must protect it.”
“ Tell me where! Where do I find this lost innocent? Tell me and I'll protect it with my life!”
“You'll know when you see him. Now rise, for there is work to be done.”
The shadow faded and the light disappeared. He was left alone in the darkness. Dante's eyes shot open. Could it all have been a dream? No, it was too real. And that meant that he had work to do. Fumbling for his flashlight, he flicked it on and shone the light around him. Night had fallen, but there was no more room for rest, not until he had completed his mission.
He had never failed to meet his objectives as a mercenary and he definitely wouldn't fail as God's chosen warrior. With rifle ready, he watched vigilantly out his window, hoping to see another sign, something to direct him in his search for the innocent one.
Hours passes, but his patience and faith didn't waiver. He almost fell asleep once, but a slice on his upper thigh with a knife kept him alert and focused.
Daylight soon came and with it a renewed confidence in his mission. He would wait. Chapter Twenty Five
Sunbathing
The sun was shining bright overhead, the sky clear and blue. John and Paul both reclined against the edge of the roof, leaving the two chairs for Eileen and Isaac. Eileen's arm was still hurting, but with the day seeming so perfect, she forgot the pain and almost forgot the disaster she was living in.
“Pass me the sunscreen, Paul.” John held out his hand expectantly.
“Sorry, we're out.”
“Damn. Oh well, what's a little sunburn going to do?” He smiled, and closed his eyes. Isaac stared off into space for a moment, then looked back down to the book he was reading. It was a bleak story, of a man and woman who, despite the odds, tried to make their life a little happier, together.
Circumstance interfered, time and again, but nothing stopped them until death ended it all. It was an old story, one told many times, but that didn't make it any less fascinating. Sometimes the best stories are the sad ones, the ones that make you feel such strong emotions, the kind you can't get from a happy ending.
Turning the last page, he sighed. Now he'd have to go rummaging through the other empty apartments again, looking for another good book. Not that he figured he'd have much luck, given the shallow tastes of modern man, but he'd look anyway.
Standing up, he mumbled a brief goodbye and turned inside, descending the narrow staircase into the darkened complex. A thin stream of light from the hallway window provided enough illumination to see by and he walked from door to door, checking each one for the markings placed on them. A red 'F' signified it had been looted for food, and a green 'X' showed whether or not it had been searched for entertainment.
When he finally found an unmarked door, he drew out a screwdriver and jimmied the door open. The wood splintered slightly as he pried the screwdriver in, but it didn't matter. Nobody would be around to care if the door took a little damage.
The curtains in the small one bedroom apartment were drawn, providing an
insufficient amount of light to see by. He drew out his flashlight, an old military model that vaguely resembled a periscope and turned it on. As he stepped further into the room, a sickening rot smell filled his nostrils. Rotten food, he hoped.
The light swept back and forth across the shelves and he briefly inspected the spines of the books he found. Rubbish, all of them. Cookbooks, exercise books in perfect, unused condition, a few trashy romance novels; nothing worth stopping for.
Might as well check for food . He looked through the cupboards. Bare. A few cans of cat food, but little else. And nothing to account for the smell of rot that permeated the apartment. He felt a sense of dread as he opened the door to the bedroom.
Flinging the door open wide, the wave of stench rolled over him and he felt the contents of his stomach tremble in protest. He doubled over and gagged for a moment, before steeling himself and stepping inside, plugging his nostrils.
In the bed was a body covered loosely by a sheet. An empty bottle of pills on the nightstand told the story clear enough and he stepped back out, closing the door behind.
Not everyone had the will to live in those dark days. He couldn't blame them, but all the same he wondered what would drive someone to commit that ultimate act of despair. Didn't they feel some shred of hope, something to pull them through?
He left the apartment and pulled out a pair of pens, marking up the door as he did so. No use having anyone else disturb that desolate tomb.
Sighing, and a little depressed, he headed back to the roof. If he couldn't read he could at least soak up a little sunshine. His tanned skin prevented him from burning too easily, and besides, the sun felt good. And sometimes feeling good was enough.
Eileen rubbed some aloe on her arm, wincing lightly at the touch of the swollen skin. The two brothers sat off to the side by the roof's edge and chattered back and forth, talking about their past. She listened with interest, but pretended not to notice.
“Remember that time when that boy was picking on me, after I got off the bus?”
Paul laughed. “Yeah. You were halfway home, when he pinned you against that tree, calling you every dirty name he could think of.”
“ Only he failed to notice you and then you came up from behind, towering over him, and with one arm you grabbed him by his backpack and flung him away like he was a toy. You must have sent him flying at least eight feet away.”
“ Oh, the look on his face was priceless. Remember, he just ran off, swearing his head off, too afraid to even look back. I wonder what ever happened to him?”
“Well, he's probably dead now.” That cold statement sobered them up a little and a brief silence hung in the air, before John spoke up again.
“Remember that game we made up? The one we used to play when dad made us mad? What did we call it?”
“'Pat the rhino on his bald little head.'” They both started snickering. “Oh, that used to make him so angry. He always was sensitive about his bald spot. And, late at night, we'd come creeping out of our room and the first one to run up and smack him on his bald spot would win. Priceless.” He was silent for a moment. “You
never did forgive dad, did you.”
A scowl passed across Paul's face. “No.”
“He wanted to see you, you know. During those last few days.” “ Yeah, but I didn't want to see him. Fuck that bastard. I don't know how you ever forgave him.”
“The man was dying. What could I do?”
“Say 'fuck you, pops'. After the hell he put us through growing up, he deserved no less.”
“Well, get over it. No point in holding on to all that emotional baggage.”
“I am over it. Doesn't mean I've forgotten, though.”
The silence crept up again, an awkward silence that stayed until Isaac came back.
“Well, I just checked another room.”
“Anything good?”
“Just a corpse.”
“That would explain why the hallway still smells.” Isaac nodded and sat down. He had a strange feeling brewing inside of him, but he couldn't identify it, nor could he shake it. It just slowly grew, mutated into this beastly, complex sequence of emotions that left him gasping for air. He couldn't breath.
Paul looked over at him. “Hey, Isaac, are you alright?” Isaac was overwhelmed and he fell to his knees, crying. His body shuddered and his chest heaved as he took deep, swallowing breaths between sobs. John, Paul, and Eileen all rushed to him. Eileen rubbed his back gently and the boys wore a look of concern.
“What's wrong?” “ It – It just finally sank in. It's all over. There will be no more children, no new people coming into this world. We're all that's left. Us, and a handful of survivors. What's the point of dragging on each miserable day? It's just so... pointless. Hopeless.”
John interrupted. “Listen, I know it seems bleak, but we can't give up. Who knows how it will end? Just because it seems pointless doesn't mean we have to give up hope.”
“ I'm sorry, I don't really mean it, I plan on fighting 'til I draw my last breath. Don't worry about me.”
Paul breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought I was supposed to be the dreary one.” John and Paul sat back by the ledge, and Eileen continued comforting Isaac. “Listen.” She whispered in his ear. “It'll all work out. You'll see.”
Isaac nodded, opened his book and started rereading it. The sun stayed bright overhead and the clouds drifted lazily through the sky, great wispy clouds that stretched out into the horizon. The day was as perfect as it could get, given the circumstances. And only a sole terrifying scream, quickly cut short, stood to ruin their day any further.
Chapter Twenty Six
The Innocent
Dante continued his vigil, staring out the window intently, squinting to avoid being blinded by the glaring sun. It had been several hours since he started watching, and not a soul passed by his street. He began to consider giving up and going to check on Father MacKenzie when movement in the corner of his eye made his heart jump.
Bringing the scope of his rifle up to his left eye, he scanned the street and quickly found his target. A small boy, with blond hair that seemed to almost glow in the sunlight. He watched the child creep quietly along the sidewalk, cautious and vigilant. He almost squeezed the trigger, but caught himself.
Casting judgment had become a reflex for him and he almost found the boy guilty without even thinking it over. Now that he saw the boy, though, he realized he couldn't bring himself to kill him. It wasn't because he was young; he'd killed plenty of kids in his day, sweeping through entire villages as a mercenary, leaving no survivors. No, it wasn't because of his age. He sensed a purity and he knew that this was the child that he was destined to protect. God had cast his judgment. The boy was innocent.
He continued watching in fascination at this new being that was now under his care. He would nurture the boy, bring him along until the Lord's work came to him at last so that he could fulfill his destiny.
The boy kept creeping along and froze. His eyes widened in horror and he let out an inaudible gasp. Panicking, Dante swung his rifle about, looking for the source of the boy's terror. A lone infected man stood at the other end of the street, also frozen. It stared for a long time and then let out a ghastly cry, charging towards the boy in shambling, awkward steps.
Dante cried out in anger and fired at the rapidly moving target. A bang erupted from his rifle, but to no avail: it was a miss. He fired again and succeeded in hitting nothing but the wall behind him. Howling in fury, he switched the gun to semi-automatic and began unloading shots quickly. Finally finding his target, the man twitched and stumbled to the ground and Dante continued firing shot after shot until his clip was empty and the man was clearly dead. Only a death twitch kept it moving, the spastic firing of nerves that kept its limbs quivering like a fish on a hook.
Dropping his rifle and grabbing his pistol, he climbed out the window and rushed to the little boy. The boy remained frozen and didn't even struggle when Dante scooped him up under one arm and ran back to his stronghold. He dropped the boy by the dumpster and leaped into the air, grabbing the fire escape ladder, and pulling it down with a clang.
Turning to the boy, he shouted his order. “Climb, quickly!”
The boy didn't move, fear still masking his face. “ Before more come! Hurry, I'll protect you!” A howl in the distance answered him and the boy finally snapped to attention and scurried up the ladder. Dante followed, but fell to the floor hard as a woman below grabbed him tightly by his ankle and yanked him down. She tackled him and began scratching at his face, hissing and snarling. He brought his arm up over his head to protect him, while his other arm frantically searched for his fallen pistol. He found it and brought the gun up under her chin. Squeezing the trigger, she fell dead, a chunk of her skull flapping crudely at the top of her head.
Scrambling to his feet, he leaped up the ladder and pulled it up just as the next attacker came. It leaped futilely at the ladder and he just laughed, carefully placing a round in its face. He stood there for another few minutes, waiting to see if any more came. None did and he went back inside.
The boy stood there, quiet, watching Dante with wide eyes.
“Are you okay?”
The boy nodded. “ Good.” Dante walked towards the cupboard and grabbed a bag of potato chips. “Here, eat these.”
The boy was hungry and started eating with fervor. It was clear he hadn't eaten in days.
“What's your name?” He finished chewing, swallowed, and murmured. “Noah.”
“Well, Noah, I'm going to protect you from here on out. The Lord has great plans for you.”
Noah just nodded and continued eating. Afterwards, Dante showed him around the bar and the apartment above, pointing out all the possible escape routes. Night was already falling and afterwards Dante made up the bed for the boy, choosing to sleep on the couch for himself. Dante fell fast asleep, comforted by the idea that his true calling was finally revealed. God had work for him and he was eager to start.
Noah lay awake, listening to Dante's light, even breathing. The man was clearly crazy, but Noah was old enough to know that he wouldn't find a better situation elsewhere. As long as he could play his part, as Dante clearly believed him to be, he would be safe. The man clearly knew how to take care of himself and his thick, knotted muscles made him seem fearsomely powerful, even a little animalistic, like a jungle cat.
With a chance to finally rest, Noah's thoughts soon turned towards his mother. He missed her terribly and hoped that she was still alive. She had been at work when the outbreak hit and he just barely escaped the school alive. She would be safe. She had to be. He couldn't bear to think otherwise.
Reflecting on the previous weeks, he still marveled at his incredible luck. Had it not been for his small size, for he was short even for his age, he probably would have died. More than once he had shimmied through openings far too small for a fully grown man to crawl through and it had saved his life. That didn't mean that his survival was perfect. More than once he had trapped himself, without food and water, and it was only through a heavy dose of luck that his assailants let him be, givin
g up after a few days. Then he would crawl back out and search for an unlocked door that he could go through to find something to stave off the hunger pangs.
It was only by chance that he had taken that fateful turn off of Vine Street and ran into Dante. He thanked his amazing luck again, for he knew that without the crazed, powerful man, he would have perished.
Sleep soon overtook him and he snored lightly, waking only once to go to the bathroom. It disgusted him, having to use a bucket for a toilet, but he did it anyway and soon went back to sleep. He dreamed of his mother and was comforted by her presence, even though it was only in his head.
Dante's dreams were strange and shifting. One moment he was fighting the infected, the next he was bowing before a mighty golden throne, with Noah seated in the place of honor and a heavenly light shining from behind. The dreams were strangely satisfying; every bullet found its mark and every second he felt God's praise and love.
It was his final dream that he noticed her. Noah had mentioned his missing mother, more than once, and even though he didn't know what she looked like, she appeared, with long, flowing, golden hair, and a serene smile that spoke of undying inner calm and peace. He soon realized what the dream was telling him and his excitement grew.
He was to find Noah's mother, and with her, as God's right hand man, he would make children with her, Holy children that would repopulate the earth, as Adam and Eve had done before, filling the globe with perfect people, blessed by the Lord himself. The outbreak was like a cleansing fire and in the aftermath the world would be restored to righteousness.
When he awoke, the realization of what he must do still danced in his head and he watched Noah sleep the peaceful sleep of a child. When daylight broke out he would take the boy to Father MacKenzie and show him his perfection. Then the boy could be properly blessed and he would set out to find his mother. It was a perfect plan and even as he tried to doze back off to sleep, the excitement kept him wide awake. Everything was falling into place.
The Outbreak Page 12
