Affliction

by Daniels, Dottie

  “I have a condition. I’ll explain later,” I mumbled. Without giving any eye contact, I steadied myself to look in the direction we were headed beyond a small pathway through numerous mature pine trees. Wes shrugged at Dustin and continued on, not sprinting this time but walking quickly. Dustin stayed behind me again. We ran this time in a westward direction for only a few more minutes before it was clear we’d made it to our destination.

  Before us in the pitch of night stood a medium-sized wooden shed that sat awkwardly by itself. There weren’t any other buildings around––at least from first glance that it could possibly store anything for. Wes and Dustin quickly inspected the building around all sides before they came back to an unlocked side door and cautiously went in. I looked around as well, trying to get a sense of direction and to catch my breath, when the all clear was given and I stepped inside. The interior of the shed wasn’t much larger than a standard room. The inside was dark, dusty and smelled identical to an old basement. There was no electricity but we could see the outline of a table, with a folded newspaper and standard tools lying on it. Dustin told me to hang out in here until I felt better while he went with Wes, who apparently was already behind the shed. I pretty much ignored his offer to rest and instead followed behind him to see what Wes was doing.

  From the direction we’d come from it was impossible to see what was behind the small building; however, behind it was a small red Plymouth station wagon, which Wes was already working on. Like the shed, the car was old and equally dusty. Wes had opened the hood and with the flashlight in hand was tugging at various wires. Dustin went behind the wheel, perhaps to try to start it on cue. I was likely unable to help much but took a look under the hood to see an extreme decline of the whole mechanical portion from its former glory days, which was probably around the same year I was born.

  “Okay, give it a try,” Wes said right before Dustin turned the ignition and the engine struggled before giving out.

  “It won’t turn over,” Dustin said out of the window.

  “That’s because the thing needs spark plugs, at the very least,” Wes muttered.

  “And a miracle,” said a female voice from behind us. I probably would’ve fallen forward from being startled but the car was in the way. I turned around when out from the trees nearby appeared a noticeably physically fit woman of about fifty whose presence was nearly imaginary––even with a brown paper bag in her hand. In a half a second I knew it was Dana, the female passenger I saw briefly as our cars collided. Now that she was right next to me, I could see why Wes showed confidence in her ability to return to this predetermined location. Some people exude a presence that says they’re a force to be reckoned with. Dana was no exception. She was still panting from her run as she stepped in and took a skeptical look under the hood.

  “Yeah, it’s still busted…piece of shit. What’s up with all the gunfire?” Dana muttered as she caught her breath. I could see the sweat beads across her forehead as she sat her paper bag down and readjusted the ponytail of her long brown hair. Dana had a few freckles that were partially blended in with well-tanned skin on her arms. Her jean shirtsleeves were cut off at the shoulders, which were probably more muscular than other women her age. The accent in her voice sounded Virginian and she ignored me completely as she walked around Wes to look at the engine from the other side.

  “Well, we’re nothing but bait out here until we can get it running,” Wes replied as he used his fingers to wipe the dust off of a random wire.

  They both went into some discussion unfamiliar to me that ultimately involved cleaning the spark plugs, something about finding a wrench and hopes about wires not being chewed by rodents. Dana was a few inches taller than Wes so he offered no protest when she told him to hurry and get on the ground to look from underneath to check the undercarriage for rodent damage.

  “Who are you?” Dana said to me casually after a few seconds. She did not turn her attention away from the wagon’s engine.

  “Sorry about earlier,” I said referring to the accident after I told her my name.

  “Oh hell, don’t worry about it. We’ll let the insurance companies figure out who was at fault,” she said before she let out a chuckle. She introduced herself and asked about the other person in the car with me.

  “I don’t know, they took him,” I told her as I suddenly lost the distraction keeping my mind off of what happened earlier. I could see Dana’s eyes narrow at the news. I could tell she was going to scrutinize my situation as she automatically looked around in the direction from where she came.

  “They didn’t look like no law men. That’s why I got the hell out of dodge when I saw ’em pull up with all those guns. You’re risking all of our safety, you know that, right?” Dana said as she quickly turned from friendly to unfriendly in two seconds flat. Perhaps she was just being protective. Somewhere along the line, I knew, this would get really ugly if I didn’t justify my existence with this group.

  The fact was I had no reason to be with this group.

  “Like I told Wes, yes, those guys are after me. I took nothing from them so I owe them nothing. They were holding us against our will and we wanted to leave. That’s the condensed version, but it’s all true,” I pleaded with Dana and basically to Wes and Dustin again. She looked me in the eyes with the same skepticism as she did with the wagon and probably with the same confidence that she thought it would get us on the road again. I returned her stare, thankful that it was still pitch black, making it extremely difficult to see any remaining blood lining my irises. There were an awkward few seconds before Dana spoke up. Without her taking her eyes off of me she told Wes to clean the spark plugs.

  “You will pay if you bring us any trouble, you hear me? They’ll no longer be your biggest problem,” Dana warned.

  “I have no bad intentions, ma’am.”

  “Now go see if there’s anything else in that shed we can take with us while we try and get this shit can running.”

  Feeling like a child that had just been disciplined, I walked away before Dana called me back. She dug inside the pocket of her shorts and handed me a small flashlight. Inside the shed the walls were covered with rusted metal tools. They were likely just as dull and would take much longer than the station wagon to restore. I heard the sound of tools being used outside and Wes mumbling inaudibly from where I was. It was probably about me. I would assume he was telling Dana about my brief collapse on the way here and the events, including the exchange of gunfire that happened before. I picked up various usable items such as a hammer, some rope, which reminded me of Graham, and a box of nails that caught my eye on a shelf.

  In my mind, Dana’s warning played over again and again while I pawed through the junk in the shed. Dana scared me. It was either her height or her voice or maybe both that enhanced the persona, but it was common sense that told me not to rile her. I had no clue where we would even go if and when the car was in working condition. Not knowing was only adding to the mountain of other issues that needed to be solved. I decided I would only stay with them for as much of the time as I needed to figure out how I would negotiate Graham’s release. More importantly, the amount of medication I had would tell me how much time I had.

  Feeling around in my pockets, I took out every syringe I had to get an official count. Two of the needles from the syringes taken from my jacket were broken and the contents leaked nearly empty as I laid out everything on the dusty table. I sorted the syringes into two groups: one for pain management and the other, the antiviral. I counted and recounted both sides. I knew roughly I had stuffed about ten syringes in each pocket before I had to leave and it was true. The tiny three-milliliter syringes were about forty in number, thanks to large jacket pockets that carried tiny shards of glass from the car windows as well. Fortunately, the small handgun took up very little space for how heavy it was.

  The final count was twenty-two and seven with the majority being the antiviral. I smiled a little because I would much rather be in pain t
han spiral out of control and possibly have the virus take over like what happened before. I was in the middle of carefully placing them back in the available space of my pockets when Dustin came into the shed. He was unfazed by what I was doing and instead focused his attentions on the hammer and rope. He then looked over at what was left on the table.

  “Must be something pretty serious, huh?” Dustin said.

  I nodded my head in agreement as I placed the last of them all back into my pockets. Dustin looked around to see if there were any more things they could use. He found a plastic bag balled up and offered it to me to put the medications in.

  “Thanks, but that’s how I lost the rest of them.”

  “Don’t worry about Dana. We call her Momma Bear, she’s so protective.”

  “She should be. I don’t blame her at all,” I told him. It appeared to me that Dustin was probably no older than eighteen. His blond hair, narrow eyes and adolescent face suggested all he needed was a skateboard and an iPod and he would be back in his element again. Instead, he too was forced to deal with the unfavorable fate that humanity was headed toward.

  “Sweet, a universal socket wrench!” Dustin said as he reached across the table and grabbed the rusted tool that I would’ve ignored otherwise. He put the tool in his pocket just as the sound of a scuffle came from outside. Someone or something hit the side of the shed with a loud thud and shook the whole structure. Dustin and I ran outside and around the back to see Dana and Wes in a struggle with a dead woman. The woman’s face was nearly unrecognizable as only one eye was intact. She wore dirty, ripped up sweatpants and a flannel shirt. Her brown hair was matted with blood and dirt and she was entirely focused on Wes. The gurgling groans that came from her were disgusting and even more wretched was her ceaseless attempts to attack. Wes would’ve easily overpowered her except she was on his back and he was using his hands to keep her head away from his skin. Dustin motioned me to stay put as he pulled Dana off from helping, pulled out his gun and aimed for the woman’s head. In the dark he focused, with both hands on his weapon, and gave the trigger a squeeze. The struggling stopped as Wes fell to his knees and the dead woman released her grip. She slid off of Wes and hit the ground with deadweight. I ran over to Wes and smelled the same rotted meat and clay odor from my own previous encounters.

  Wes said nothing but as soon as I touched him, he jumped. I tried to soothe him but he yelled, “Back the hell off!”

  Dana stepped in now, insisting on checking if he’d been injured. Wes was a little less resistant toward her as she motioned for me to come and look him over. Dustin stood watch as we both looked through his ripped shirt in multiple places but fortunately saw no seriously broken skin. The blood on his neck appeared to be from the woman as we hurried to clear it from infecting him.

  “Where did she come from?” Dustin asked.

  “It doesn’t matter. We need to leave now. That gunfire will either draw more of ’em or bring Seanna’s friends to our location. My guess is probably both. The car wreck is less than a mile from here,” Dana replied.

  Dustin ran for the car but by then Wes was on his feet and told him he’d try and start it. Wes was obviously shaken by the attack but focused on his renewed task with even more diligence. He cursed and grumbled under his breath for the car to start and on the fourth try, the engine roared to life. Truthfully, the thing sounded like it would stop at any second but Wes kept his foot on the gas every time any weakness in its running occurred.

  Dana hollered for us to get moving as we all rushed into the small wagon. Dana grabbed her bag and I ran back into the shed for the hammer and rope before I hurried to the back seat next to Dustin. Wes put the old wagon into drive and turned the headlights on. There was an awkward path, barely visible due to the overgrowth of trees and bushes, which likely had been untended since long before the outbreak. The path eventually opened up a half mile or so later, where it became a paved road in the middle of a large clearing where we saw seemingly unoccupied houses on both sides. I didn’t bother with a seat belt, though I should’ve known better after all I just went through. Instead, I pressed down on the silver metal lock mechanism for the door on my side. Dustin saw me and did the same thing for his door.

  Hoping to see her face, instead I looked at the back of Dana’s head and leaned forward to both her and Wes.

  “Where are we going?” I asked above the roar of the engine as we finally hit smooth pavement, passed an intersection and in my estimation headed west down a dark, two-lane road.

  Dana did not look directly at me; instead she kept her head and body forward and simply replied, “We are going to safety, darling.”