“What happened? Did you hear from any of the children?”
Portia said, “Can you come over? The children? Oh, I still haven’t been able to get hold of them. They’re smart and resourceful and should be ok. Or that’s what I’m telling myself anyway. It has to be in God’s hands. No, this is something else.”
Virginia locked the door behind them and followed her across the street. It was freezing and the snowfall continued unabated, banking at least a foot high against the garage door. It would be hard to get her car out if it kept on like this. They reached the house.
The smell hit her like a wave as soon as they opened the door; a smell of rot and decay so strong she almost felt it as a tangible thing entering her nostrils. She gagged and took a quick look at Portia, hoping she hadn’t noticed but Portia was watching her and nodded as if in confirmation and suddenly Virginia knew.
“The woman at the gas station?”
Portia said, “Probably.”
“Where is he?”
“In the bedroom, the vomiting started this afternoon. It’s so bad I’ve given up trying to clean it all. I’ve been through three sets of sheets. I tried calling paramedics but the line won’t pick up. Neither will 911.”
They went up the polished oak staircase and down the hallway, past pictures of smiling babies. The smell grew stronger as they entered the bedroom. Bill, wrapped in blankets but shivering, had stopped vomiting for the moment. Portia went to the bed and put her hand on his forehead.
“He just keeps getting colder.”
The bed and floor were splashed about with thick black bile and the smell was as if his internal organs were rotting and he was spewing them out. His breathing was rapid and shallow and she couldn’t tell if he was conscious.
Hating herself for saying it but doing it anyway she said, “Portia, you know you have to restrain him now, while you still can.”
Portia sat by her husband’s side, talking softly to him and stroking his arm. She looked at Virginia but said nothing.
Virginia left the room and went downstairs, going through the kitchen then out into the garage. She searched until she found what she was looking for and went back up to the bedroom. She handed the roll of duct tape to Portia who took it without comment.
“Do you want me to help you or do you want to do it?”
“Help me.”
Virginia took the roll and wound several layers round both ankles, tight enough to hold him but not tight enough to cut off his circulation. She didn’t want to hurt him. She then secured both feet to the foot rail at the bottom of the bed and handed the tape to Portia who wrapped each of his wrists and then looped the tape through the spindles on the headboard. It looked terribly uncomfortable but Bill didn’t appear to be aware of being moved. His face was a mottled white/gray color and his breath came in short gasps. The bandage on his face was saturated with oozing pus. She watched as Portia adjusted his blankets then, after partially drawing the door to, they went back downstairs.
Portia said, “I’m not sure what to expect next. If he does go into coma and then revives like they are saying, violent, I wonder if I’ll be able to calm him down enough to eat or drink. If I can’t, then I’ll need to get an IV drip going as soon as possible. I don’t have the equipment for that here. I’d start it now if I did. He’s already dehydrated from all the vomiting.”
Virginia couldn’t imagine anybody surviving what she had seen upstairs. She wanted to be sure he was restrained just in case she was wrong but from the moment she saw the condition he was in, she was sure he wouldn’t make it through the night. She kept her opinion to herself and made Portia a cup of hot tea, with a little whiskey for extra warmth. She added a small log to the fire and sat on the down filled sofa. Portia took a sip of tea, then another and seemed to relax a little.
“Did I ever tell you how I met Bill? It was just after I started working on the pediatric floor at East Beaumont. I was new in town and the new kid at work. I’d just started a week of midnight shifts and I had a hallway of the injury cases- you know, kid falls down the stairs and get concussed, toddler who jumps out of the crib and breaks a collarbone. There was also one case of measles. That was kind of unusual. Even back then you hardly ever saw it thanks to immunizations. I had checked on all of my patients and the measles case would be the last before I went home. When I went into the room, I thought something was wrong. There was a grown man in the bed, asleep. I went back to the station to tell them we had a patient misplaced. I was wrong. Measles was Bill. He’d been working on a project in the Dominican Republic for 6 months and probably contracted it there. Since it was considered a childhood illness, they put him on the children’s ward. When I went back into the room, he was awake. I saw those blue eyes and when he smiled… that was it for me. He asked me for my phone number and called me after he was discharged.” She smiled at the memory then leaned back and rested her head on the sofa.
Virginia turned on the television. CBS reported infected victims wading ashore in the Carolinas and Florida and advised people to avoid the beaches and dock areas. As reports of attacks grew more frequent, homeless shelters began to turn many away, the fortunate inside huddling together as they listened to the desperate cries of people, many of them with children, begging for shelter and protection.
CNN reported they were still unable to connect with any of their local people in Miami. Martial law had been declared throughout the entire southern half of the Florida peninsula. FEMA shelters opened several hours ago and locals were directed to go to those locations if they had to leave their homes. Now, there were new reports that these shelters were overrun by the infected and should be avoided. The network’s remote cameras were up and still working in a few areas of the city. Live footage from these was shown in a small screen in the corner of the TV. Fires were visible in some scenes. Slow moving figures thronged the streets but details were difficult to make out in the darkness.
C-SPAN replayed an interview from earlier in the day with a World Health Organization official.
Interviewer: What can you tell us about the spread of the infection?
WHO: We believe the virus is pandemic. We have received reports of outbreaks in Europe and the Middle East. China is officially denying having any cases but internet messages from inside the country tell a different story.
Interviewer: Have researchers made any progress in finding a treatment for the disease?
WHO: Our treatment protocols at this time are still isolation and restraint. The importance of this cannot be overstated. Once victims reach the psychotic stage of the illness they are very difficult to control. They do not appear to recognize friends or family members and will attack without warning or provocation.
Interviewer: We have seen medical reports describing the vital signs of the infected patients as “virtually indiscernible from death.” They have no heartbeat and do not appear to breathe. What else characterizes these patients?
WHO: The infected are still capable of movement although they are somewhat slow and uncoordinated. They are quite strong in some cases, especially if their bodies were not extremely damaged by the attacker that infected them. They also in most cases will try to feed on their victims.
Interviewer: Feed? As in they are eating people?
WHO: Yes.
Interviewer: So the reports from the Caribbean about cannibals are true?
WHO: Most likely yes, but you have to realize these are not cannibals in the usual sense of the word. These people are sick.
Interviewer: There are reports that the infected in many cases have sustained wounds such as torn off limbs, severed jugulars, serious injuries that one would not expect could be survived. Are these victims dead or alive?
WHO: (hesitating) We don’t know.
Portia switched off the television. Distant sirens wailed in the otherwise quiet night. Through the windows, they saw snowflakes swirling in the glow of light surrounding the street lamps. They were quiet, lulled into drowsiness by the
warmth of the fire. Virginia felt herself dozing.
She awoke disoriented. The fire was lower and the room cold and a low moaning filled the house. A thumping noise came from above as if something slammed repeatedly into a wall. She looked over at Portia who had just opened her eyes. Jumping up with a small cry, she ran to the staircase. Virginia followed her.
In spite of what she had heard on TV earlier, she wasn’t prepared for what she saw. No one could be. Bill was far from comatose. He had torn his hands free of the tape and kicked both legs as he worked to free his feet. The tape around his ankles had already worn a deep groove into the skin, exposing white bone. He seemed to be unaware that he was tearing away his own flesh. When Portia saw the damage he was doing to himself, she exclaimed and began to move toward him but reaching out quickly Virginia pulled her back. Bill heard them. He moaned and reached out yearningly. Portia broke free of Virginia and rushed toward her husband, reaching for him and as she did, he sank his teeth into her hand shaking his head like a dog as he bit down hard. Portia screamed as he ripped the skin from her hand. One foot came free when he lunged for her. Now with that slight additional mobility he reached out with both arms, pulled her forward and bit into her shoulder. Her screams faded to choking gurgling sounds as he leaned over, snapped her neck, and tore open her throat. Virginia watched, frozen in shock, as Portia died before her eyes. Bill tore open his wife’s abdomen, pulling handfuls of entrails from her body and devouring them. Virginia wasn’t aware of making a sound but Bill turned in her direction, straining against the layers of tape still holding one foot to the bed. His lips dripped blood and his mouth snapped at her as he moaned. She turned and fled just as he tore his foot free and started down the hall, torn skin flapping wetly around his ankle. She was almost down the stairs when he reached the top and, attempting to descend, stumbled and fell down the steps, knocking her to the floor, pinning her. She struggled to get out from underneath the stinking mass of his body. Kicking him off her she got to her feet but lost her balance, falling and hitting her side hard on the stone edge of the raised fireplace hearth. He was on his feet now, moving in an oddly uncoordinated way, but still clearly coming after her, gnashing his teeth. She scrambled backwards toward the fireplace when she heard a ringing crash behind her. Reaching back, never taking her eyes off of him, she felt behind her until her hand closed around the iron fireplace poker. She pulled it in front of her as Bill lurched towards her. He clutched at her, hissing, mouth open wide. She kicked him hard in the knees causing him to fall forward. The sharpened tip of the poker went straight through the soft flesh under his chin and came out the top of his head. He slumped sideways, twitched a few times, then was still. Black fluid dribbled out of his mouth.
Drawing ragged breaths, Virginia began to tremble. Pulling away from Bill’s body she drew her knees up to her chest trying to stop shaking. She felt a stabbing pain in her side and noted that her shirt was covered in blood, probably her own. Just then, she heard a sound incongruous in this night of horrors. It was her mother in law’s “Mr. Blue Sky” ring tone.
She got to her feet, trying to remember where Portia had put their coats. Her phone was in her coat pocket. The sound seemed to echo throughout the house and she couldn’t pinpoint it. She checked the hall closet but her coat wasn’t there. It wasn’t in the kitchen either. The phone still rang, that ridiculously happy song mocking her efforts to find it. She finally found it in the living room. Her coat had fallen behind the wing back chair in the corner. She grabbed it and fished the phone out just as it stopped ringing. She hit Reply to call back but the call kept dropping. She almost threw the phone in frustration. Instead, she called the police department to report what had just occurred. She knew a direct line to the department that was quicker than calling the line for the public and going through all the prompts. She had committed murder, accidental and in self-defense, but still murder and she had to report it.
The phone picked up after just three rings. She didn’t recognize the voice.
“Hello? Wells Police Department.”
“I need to report two deaths. Two of my neighbors are dead and I-” interrupting her the man said, “Who is this? Are you sure they’re dead?”
“This is Virginia Dare and my address is 323 Crispin Lane. Yes, I’m sure they’re dead. I- well I’m just pretty sure they’re dead.”
“You’d better make sure or else stay out of their way. You need to get home if you’re not already there. Keep your doors locked and curtains drawn. Try not to attract any attention to the house.”
“Ok, but when will someone be coming out?”
“Ms. Dare, no one is coming out anytime soon. It’s just a fluke that you caught me. I’m leaving now to get home to my family. No one else is here. All police services are temporarily suspended. Please, just stay home and stay safe.” He hung up.
Virginia slowly put her coat on and slid the phone back into her pocket. She avoided looking at Bill’s body as she walked into the foyer. Closing the front door firmly behind her she fought through the snowdrifts back to her house. Inside everything looked so peaceful and ordinary that she wondered if she had hallucinated the whole terrible evening. Dropping her coat on the floor on her way into the bathroom, she sat on the edge of the tub and gently peeled off her blood saturated shirt and the rest of her clothes. The gash caused by her fall against the hearth looked ugly and deep. A torn piece of her shirt was inside the wound and she gingerly pulled it out, releasing a fresh trickle of blood. She turned on the shower and stepped under the spray when a wave of dizziness hit her and she sank to her knees. She began to cry uncontrollably, her body racked by deep sobs that only slowly subsided as the warm water washed the crusted blood from her body. Crawling from the shower she dried off, taping her side with gauze. The sun rose as she climbed into bed and mercifully sank into oblivion.
Chapter 7
Enter Caliban
The Tempest
-William Shakespeare
Heavy, shuffling footsteps downstairs woke her. Virginia opened her eyes and scanned the room but didn’t move or make a sound, not wanting to give her location away. Judging by the way the light slanted in under the drawn curtains she guessed it was late afternoon. She lay still, listening to the footsteps as they moved through the downstairs rooms then she heard the stair treads creak as the intruder mounted the steps up to the second floor. Sliding across the sheets and dropping softly to the floor, she grabbed the loaded handgun from under the bed then positioned herself so she would be behind the door when it opened. She waited as footsteps advanced down the hallway. The knob turned slowly and the door eased open. A head and then a plaid flannel covered shoulder came into view and she pointed the gun at Larry’s face just as he turned and saw her. He looked taken aback when he saw the gun and put his hands up sheepishly.
“Sorry. One of the neighbors said you’d gone to Springfield.” he said as his eyes roamed over her body. Virginia realized she was wearing very little. Her arms crossed involuntarily in front of her body to shield herself from his gaze.
“Why did you break into my house?” she demanded as she grabbed her robe.
“Well, me and some of the men are forming sort of a group to protect the neighborhood. We’re checking the empty houses for guns and ammo.”
“This is not an empty house, not yet. I can’t believe you thought it was ok to just break into my house. Please leave.”
“Don’t get your feathers ruffled; I didn’t know you were here. “ His tone turned nasty. “You know, you might want to be a little nicer to me from now on. Like I said before, you might need some protection. Where’s your husband?”
“I’m expecting him back anytime and hell will freeze over before I’ll need you to protect me. Get out.” She stopped short of pointing the gun at him again but kept both hands on it as she held it at her side.
“You’re lying. He couldn’t make it back if he wanted to. Planes aren’t flying and the roads are mostly closed. And what happened to y
our fancy security system? Not working too well, is it?”
Virginia realized she had forgotten to set it before she went to sleep this morning.
“Get out of my house this minute. If you don’t, you’d better believe I will protect myself” and this time she raised the gun. She followed as he retreated down the stairs, uttering threats as he went. She relocked the front door and checked the others to see which one he had used to get in. All were still locked. She went into the laundry room and found the window there forced open and the lock broken. Searching the garage she found a rake handle she cut down to size and used as a bar so the window couldn’t be opened. It wasn’t perfect but would have to do.
The wound in her side had broken open. She changed the bandage and took two acetaminophen for the pain. Hurriedly dressing in thick corduroys and a warm sweater, she thought of what she once would have done in a situation like this. With one call to 911, police would have been out in minutes. Larry would be taken into custody and she would be safe. Not now. There was no one to call.
Other than the window, the house seemed undisturbed. Outside it was still snowing and so dark the street lamps came on early. She poured a cup of the coffee she had made yesterday, heated it in the microwave and drank it, grateful for the warmth. She turned on the television. Two of the local affiliates were off the air. NBC was still broadcasting but it wasn’t live. They showed footage shot yesterday in New York City as multitudes of people tried to leave the city on foot. The streets were choked with cars abandoned once true gridlock took hold. They carried suitcases and backpacks. Children cried as their parents hurried them along. Others had dogs on leashes and birds in cages, everyone trying to save what was precious to them. The screen changed to the male anchor.
The Living Dead (Book 1): Contagion Page 5
