The Outbreak

by Atherton, P. A.

  Jim started walking towards the counter, but Vincent grabbed his sleeve and tugged at him. “Don't go. It's what he's waiting for.”

  Jim shook off Vincent's grip and rushed forward. Vincent stood up and took aim at the stove, waiting. Jim continued his advance and positioned himself behind the serving counter. Just as he reached it, Harry popped back up and fired at Jim. The shot hit him in the shoulder and Jim fell back to the ground, slamming into the tiled floor hard. Vincent opened fire, but each shot missed its mark. Swearing, he rushed forward to his fallen comrade and inspected his shoulder.

  “Just a flesh wound, you'll be alright.”

  “Not for long!” Harry laughed. Vincent's face contorted with rage and he stood up, and started firing at the gas stove. Harry screamed out a string of obscenities and ran back into the storage room, leaping out of the way just as a massive explosion knocked him off his feet. Flames licked up the walls and soon the back side of the cafeteria was burning. The fire crawled up to the ceiling high above and quickly started spreading.

  “ You stupid asshole, you'll kill us all!” Harry yelled from the back room.

  “You're going to burn, Harry! First here, and then forever in hell, you son of a bitch!” Vincent stooped over and helped Jim to his feet. Just as he got upright, a shot rang out and Jim collapsed in a crumpled heap. Vincent turned to face the sound of the blast and swore under his breath. “Shit.”

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Dark Rage

  The search was proving fruitless so far and it was too quiet for Dante's liking. Eerily quiet. He continued scouring the halls, Noah over his shoulder and his pistol cocked and ready in his hand. The dark hallways were unnerving and he felt like an attack was imminent. With only his gun and twenty five bullets, not to mention the small boy he was protecting, he felt sure that any attack would likely end badly, but he wasn't going to give up. The Lord wouldn't tolerate it and neither would he.

  The lights suddenly flickered on overhead and he jumped, accidentally squeezing the trigger. The shot rang out, echoing in the corridor for what seemed to last an eternity. He stood still, waiting to see if anything would come. Nothing did and he continued on.

  A body lay up ahead and he stopped to investigate it. A woman in her early thirties with her throat slashed. Not killed by infected, but by someone else. He started to walk away when he heard Noah cry out.

  “Mom!” He froze and turned back towards the body. So this was Christine, his bride to be. Dead. He set the grieving boy down and Noah hurried to his mother's body and clung to it tightly, crying between gasping breaths. A swell of rage worked its way up from his belly to his head and he started to twitch. His anger was unstoppable and he felt the familiar blood lust creep up on him. It was killing time. God, he prayed, let me find her killer. Let me avenge her death.

  As if in answer, a gunshot sounded in the distance and his head turned towards its source.

  “Wait here.”

  Noah didn't respond, he just continued sobbing and holding his dead mother. With a fresh wave of anger, Dante took off at a run and heard the sound of more gunshots ring out, followed by an explosion. Nothing would deter him, though, and he continued charging until he found a door. Looking inside, he saw two uniformed men, one helping the other to his feet.

  Dante kicked the door open and fired a shot through the injured man's skull. The man fell back to the ground and the other man just stopped and stared. Their eyes met and Dante lined up another shot, narrowly missing as the man dove out of the way, behind a counter.

  He stormed inside the cafeteria, walking towards the counter with heavy, plodding steps. Another man peeked his head around the corner near the burning wall and took a shot at him. It skimmed his right ear, but he didn't even flinch. With a guttural growl, he opened fire at the newcomer and hit him twice in the chest. The man fell back out of view and Dante continued his approach.

  “If anyone here is responsible for Christine's murder, be prepared to die.” The man behind the counter yelled out. “You just shot her killer. Don't shoot me, I was a friend of hers.”

  Dante paused, deciding to leave the man behind the counter alone and see if his information was true. He picked up his pace. Running in a full sprint, he headed for the fallen man. The man lay on his back, panting heavily.

  “You motherfucker! I'm gonna -” Dante shot the gun from his hand, reducing his wrist to a tattered stump. The man screamed in pain and he crouched over him, drawing his knife.

  “Did you kill her?”

  The man just laughed and grit his teeth. “Fuck off.” Dante ran the blade into the man's fat belly and drew it back out. The flames behind him flicked closer and he stopped to drag the weakly struggling man out into the open, away from the burning wall.

  “ I'm only going to ask one more time. Answer honestly and I'll be merciful and end your miserable life. Did you kill her?” He rose the knife high in the air and the blood dripped down the blade onto the man's face. He blinked as the drops rolled into his eye and laughed again.

  “Fuck -” Dante drove the blade through his ribcage and twisted the handle sharply. The man sputtered and coughed up a wad of blood, before going limp. He was dead.

  Still unsatisfied, he stood up and turned towards the other man. He was nowhere in sight. Must have ran off. Dante swore and started heading back towards Noah. He found the boy still crying and decided to leave him alone while he looked for an inhaler. There must be a pharmacy somewhere, it was just a matter of finding it.

  Luckily, signs on the wall pointed him in the right direction and he quickly returned with an inhaler, as well as a bottle of painkillers stuffed in his pocket. He gently shook the boy's shoulders and Noah looked up, his eyes red and puffy with tears. Dante handed the boy the inhaler and he took it eagerly, sucking on the end of it and taking several deep, long breaths.

  “Thank you.” He muttered weakly.

  “It's time to go, now. Can you walk?” Noah nodded and together they started heading back the way they came. The entrance door was hanging wide open and Dante slipped into battle stance, cautiously walking out the door with his pistol leading the way. The courtyard was empty and he noticed a jeep missing from the parking lot. That other bastard must have escaped after all. Dante felt another surge of anger rise in him, but he choked it down and decided it was probably for the best. He needed to get Noah home. The boy had already had a terrible day and needed to rest. He would give him the peace he needed.

  As they passed through the broken front gates, they froze where they stood. To the left, several blocks down the street, was an unbelievable number of infected and Dante swore loudly. After a brief moment of

  indecision, he decided that heading back into the prison wouldn't do, so he grabbed the boy under his arm and started running down the street, heading straight for the bar.

  He pumped his legs furiously, but the crowd gained on him quickly. The boy was light, but he still slowed him down a little. He knew he wouldn't make it in time and would have to stop and fight. Dropping Noah down to the ground, he whirled and started firing into the crowd. Each shot found its mark and the bodies dropped quickly. The mob was still thick, though, and he knew he only had moments before they reached him. Gritting his teeth, he prayed for a miracle.

  The miracle didn't come, but each shot continued to kill and soon his gun clicked empty.

  “ Fuck!” He ejected the clip and inserted his backup, which was only half full. A dozen or more infected closed in on him and his heart sank as he realized he only had ten bullets left. With fierce determination, he readied himself and continued firing. The bodies tumbled to the ground and some of the remaining crowd tripped over their fallen comrades, buying him more time. The gun clicked empty again and he dropped it to the ground, drew his knife in one smooth motion, and he charged the remaining three.

  The first of them stumbled during it's last step and Dante caught him by the hair, driving his knife into its throat. With a gruesome laugh he dropped the bo
dy and braced himself as the next man tackled him. He fell back and felt a sharp pain as a piece of broken glass pierced his lower back. The man on top of him gnashed his teeth and struggled inch by inch to sink his jaws into Dante's throat. He flipped the knife around, blade down, and wrapped his arm around the man, sinking the blade in its back. With a hard twist, the man started to jerk spasmodically and Dante rolled out from underneath it, only to get tackled again. He fell face forward, his mouth smashing into the pavement, and he felt his front tooth break, bringing on a fresh wave of pain. In a burst of anger, he leaped to his feet and the man on top of him fell backwards. Dante dove at him and pressed his knees into its chest. Raising his blade high in the air, he drove it into its neck and it let out a ghastly moan as its voice box was ripped loose.

  Drenched in blood, Dante rose to his feet and turned. The boy was gone. He looked up the street and saw him still running. A lone figure stood ahead of the boy and Dante swore again. If Noah died now, to that infected son of a bitch, he would have failed God and His great plan. Running after him as fast as his legs would allow, he saw the boy run towards the man and together they turned and ran down the road, turning at the intersection. So it wasn't an infected, but another survivor. Another survivor, stealing Noah away from him.

  He threw back his head and bellowed in anger and continued running, knife ready in his sweaty hand. He didn't even stop to take out the shard of glass from his back, he just kept running and running, swerving to turn down the intersection they last turned down. He stopped short and groaned. They were nowhere to be seen. He had lost them.

  With another howl of anger, he closed his eyes and saw Noah's face in his mind, accompanied by the face of the old man that was with him. If he ever saw that old man again, he would get his revenge. And if that bastard laid a finger on Noah, he would suffer greatly before he died. But there was nothing he could do now, so he headed back for the bar, and decided to wait for a sign.

  He sat in his armchair by the window and stared intently down at the street below, nursing a bottle of rum. He sat there and waited, and as the hours passed, he never let anything interrupt his vigil. He would wait, and God would show him a sign.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Close Call

  Clive walked down the front steps and stopped to lean against the porch. It was the thirteenth house he had checked so far and it was slow work. He had to make sure that he checked every inch of the buildings, because she would likely hide from him, since she couldn't be sure whether he was one of the infected or not. It didn't dawn on him until he finished checking the ninth house that he should risk calling out her name. Still, though, if she was hidden well, she might not hear his voice.

  He almost gave up, until he hit the last house. In the upstairs bedroom were her clothes lying in a pile on the floor. She had been there and apparently changed her outfit, so he figured she couldn't be far.

  Turning down the street, he walked into the next house in the line and turned the knob. The door was locked, so he walked around back and tried the back door. Locked. Giving up, he bashed open the back door window, hoping it wouldn't attract any attention. Reaching through the shattered glass, he turned the deadbolt lock and opened the door.

  He stepped inside and felt a sharp blow to his head. Everything fell to darkness. Clive opened his eyes and winced. His head was throbbing and he looked around. He was sitting in a bedroom, unable to move. It was at this point that he noticed that he was bound tightly, his wrists tied behind his back and his torso strung around the bed post.

  Struggling futilely, he tried to get himself free, but had no luck. Whoever tied those ropes tied them well. But he continued his struggle until he saw a tall, bearded man standing in the doorway.

  “ Awake, I see. I hope you'll forgive me, but I couldn't have you running loose in my sanctuary.”

  “Untie me now!”

  “Or what? You'll arrest me?” The man threw his head back and laughed. “Good luck.”

  “Untie me.”

  The man stared at him. “No.”

  Clive heard a voice in another room. “Clive, is that you?”

  “Alice?” “ Yes, please help me!” She started crying and Clive started struggling against the ropes again.

  “You bastard! What did you do to her?”

  “ The question is, what am I going to do with you? But as for that sweet young thing in the other room, I have plans for her.” He grinned, and left the room.

  “Stop! You fucking bastard, stop!” The man disappeared from sight and Alice's screams raised to a high pitch. “Please, no! Not again!”

  Her screams were muffled. Clive could hear the bed rocking and her quiet sobbing cast against the man's fevered grunting. He strained against the ropes until he thought his wrists would break and gave up, leaning back against the bedpost, panting. Her sobbing filled him with rage and he fantasized about what he would do to that man, once given the chance.

  Her crying soon stopped and the man came into view, walking away down the staircase. “Alice, are you alright?”

  She didn't answer, but he could hear her continuing to cry.

  “Alice?” “ Please, I don't want to talk right now. Just leave me alone!” Her crying got worse and she took deep, gasping breaths in between sobs.

  Clive pulled hard against the ropes and tried to stand up. The bed inched upwards, but his feet couldn't gain enough leverage and he fell back, slamming hard onto the floor. His backside stung with the impact and he knew that he had bruised his tail bone. The man came back up the stairs, stomping heavily.

  “ Trying to escape, are we? You son of a bitch, try again and I'll kill you.” The man walked up to Clive and kicked him in the jaw. Clive's teeth chattered together and he felt like his face was going to swell up and explode. In anger, he spat on the man and got another kick in the face. The blow hit him hard and he slumped backwards, falling limp, and darkness washed over him a second time.

  When he awoke it was dark, only a thin beam of moonlight streaming through the window curtains. His head was throbbing and his jaw swollen on the left side so that he couldn't close his mouth all the way.

  He considered making another attempt at escaping, but decided it was foolish and not worth risking getting killed over. So instead he took to dreaming about his escape and his heroic rescue of poor Alice from the clutches of the monster that had imprisoned him. He fantasized about torturing the man and leaving him for dead, only when he had suffered enough.

  It only took a few moments before he was disgusted with himself. He was an officer of the law, not a petty killer. No, the man needed to die, but he couldn't stoop to his level. In the end, a simple killing would be all that was necessary. How he would do it, he didn't know.

  He'd have to be careful, he knew that much. The man was armed and he couldn't attack him openly. He'd have to use stealth and catch him unaware.

  Deciding their was nothing he could do for now, he tried to fall back asleep. Sleep refused to come, however, and his head was in a tremendous amount of pain. It took several hours before he finally succeeded in falling asleep and by then sunlight was already streaming through the window, the first rays of dawn casting the room in a pale orange glow.

  He awoke to a sharp kick in the ribs. “Wake up, little man.” Clive glared at him and the man just laughed. “Oh, did somebody wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

  Clive said nothing, deciding that silence would do better than provoking the man. “ Won't talk, eh? Well, I'll settle for hearing you squeal.” He laughed again and pointed a gun at Clive's head. With his free hand, he started untying the ropes and dragged Clive to his feet, before pushing him onto the bed, face down. Clive felt rough hands around his waist and his pants were ripped down.

  He struggled, only stopping when the muzzle of the gun was pressed firmly against his temple. “Don't move. That's my job.” He laughed again and Clive heard the man unzip his pants. With a powerful thrust, he felt a sharp pain below
his waist. Another thrust and the man grunted. Clive couldn't stop the tears from flowing down his face, as the man thrust again and again, each time bringing with it another sharp pain. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was somewhere else, but the man's heavy breathing kept him anchored where he was. For what seemed like an eternity, the man continued. By the time he stopped, Clive was left gasping for air and sobbing uncontrollably. He'd never felt so weak and helpless before and he couldn't stand the shame of what had happened.

  Looking down, he saw a trickle of blood run out from the seat of his pants and he

  grimaced. The pain was almost as unbearable as the shame and the sight of his own blood made the reality of the situation strike him hard. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, trying to shake loose the memory of the horrible events that had passed.

  Alice called out to him weakly. “Clive?”

  “He's indisposed at the moment, sweetheart. He'll get back to you later.”

  She called again, but Clive didn't answer. The shame was unbearable and to have her know what happened to him... he just couldn't stand it. His plans of humanely killing the man soon vanished and as he was tied back to the bedpost, he knew that the man would suffer greatly before he died. He wanted to stare the man down, let him know that he wasn't phased, but couldn't bring himself to look at him. He'd never felt such hatred. He would escape and he was more determined than ever to have his revenge.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Not Yet

  Isaac stood up and shivered. The rain had soaked him through and he couldn't believe he had been stupid and drunk enough to fall asleep in the alleyway, in the rain. It was still raining lightly, a faint mist clouding his vision. It seemed he had only slept for a few hours, because the sun was still up, resting low on the horizon. It would be dark soon and Isaac didn't feel like staying on the streets at night.