by Jay Brenham
This is not the time for crying, Gloria, she told herself. You have to hold it together. For Bobby. For yourself.
"Bobby, come here right now." Bobby moved next to Gloria, sensing the urgency in her voice. "When I tell you, I want you to run to the car as fast as you can. I'll be right behind you. Don't look back, and don't stop for anything or anyone no matter what, okay?"
Bobby nodded, wide-eyed.
Good. She had to get her son out of the hospital. Now.
Gloria paused. Roger had started to move. He moved his head back and forth with his eyes closed, as if he was testing the limits of how far he could turn his head. Then his head swiveled to where Gloria was standing and opened his eyes, immediately zeroing in on her. His eyes were different. Not a different color but they might as well have been; they weren't his. He looked furious. Without taking her eyes off him, Gloria slid the door open behind her.
"Now," she whispered to Bobby. “Run!”
Roger sprang from his bed, sending the IV stand crashing down. The IV ripped from his forearm as he stepped on the tubing and blood splattered across the floor. Gloria kicked the rolling doctor’s chair into his path. He put his foot atop the chair and attempted to spring off of it, but the wheels moved smoothly beneath his weight and he crashed face first into the ground. Gloria frantically grabbed at the different monitors and stands and threw what was probably $100,000 worth of medical supplies in Roger's path. When there was nothing left to throw she turned and ran, slamming the door behind her just as Roger was an arm’s length away.
On the main floor of the ER, there were now five people throwing themselves at a door. The staff must have locked themselves inside. Two of the infected patients turned at the sound of Gloria slamming the door and ran for her. Gloria had a head start but they were fast. She pushed empty hospital beds, wheelchairs, and anything else she saw behind her. Anything to slow them down.
The doors leading out of the ER were open in front of her and she hoped that meant Bobby had gotten out.
Gloria burst into the waiting area, yelling. "Run! Everybody run!" But the people waiting there just looked at her like she was crazy.
One of the staff members ran up to her, probably thinking she was a patient with a mental disorder, but she shrugged him off and he stumbled. As the man fell backward he was tackled by an infected patient who’d been following her. Gloria didn’t look back but she didn’t need to; she could hear the man’s screams for help.
Gloria sprinted to the minivan. For a horrible moment, she stood next to the van and looked around, her eyes searching for the familiar small figure. Bobby wasn't there. What if he’d gotten lost? Should she have followed him right out instead of trying to hold Roger off? What if he was back in the hospital, hiding? What if one of the infected patients had gotten him?
Someone grabbed her ankle and she jumped, turning to run.
"Mom! Mom! It’s just me. I was hiding under the car. It was locked and I got scared."
Gloria grabbed hold of Bobby. "You scared the hell out of me!"
"I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His face was pale.
"It's okay, sweetie, just get in the car."
Gloria buckled up and locked the doors. She reversed quickly, backing into a car behind her in her haste. The parking lot was tightly packed and she reminded herself to be careful; she needed to make it home. She was so scared, adrenaline pumping its way through her veins; she could easily drive too fast and T-bone another vehicle. Then where would she be?
A man from across the parking lot looked at her with a confused expression. People were streaming out of the ER and she swerved to avoid hitting them. As she drove past she looked into the waiting area. It was chaos. Blood was splattered on one of the windows. People were visibly bleeding as they exited the ER. In her rearview mirror, she saw the man who’d given her the confused look enter the ER. If only she’d said something, yelled a warning of some kind, she could have saved his life. It was too late for him now.
Gloria kept the van moving as fast as she dared until she got home. When she pulled into the driveway she looked at Bobby for the first time since leaving the hospital. He was crying.
"Mom...is...is...Roger gonna die?"
The truth was she didn't know what was going to happen to Roger but she needed to make sure she got her family out of the city. She couldn't afford to tend to a broken heart, whether it belonged to her or her son.
Gloria took a deep breath and did what any parent would do.
She lied.
CHAPTER SIX
About a thousand things were going through Gloria's mind when she walked into her house. Food. Water. A weapon. But the most pressing was getting in touch with her mother and daughters.
With shaking hands, Gloria pulled her phone out to call her mother. She accidentally pushed the wrong person twice.
Finally she was able to connect with her mother. "Hey mom."
"Oh hey, Hon. How’s Roger doing?"
Gloria tried to do her best to explain and then told her mother to leave the city with Izzy and Abby.
“Is that really necessary Gloria?” Her Mom said.
"Trust me mom. Just get out of here."
"Okay we'll text you in a few minutes when we leave. We’ll be headed to Buxton."
Buxton was a small town located along the Outer Banks of North Carolina, just a 2-3 hour drive from Virginia. Gloria had grown up there during summers and her mother still owned a rental house there. It was secluded and the ocean provided an abundance of fresh food to eat and catch. They would be safe there until this—whatever it was—had passed.
"Alright mom we'll be right behind you. I have to get a few things before I leave."
Birth certificates, social security cards, and clothing were at the top of the list, plus food and water. They needed to get out of here as soon as possible.
The highways, bridges and tunnels out of the city would be a parking lot once people realized the madness was spreading. Hell, they were like that on a good day.
Bobby had gone up to his room.
"Bobby, baby, get ready to get in the car. We're going to meet your grandmother and sisters."
"Alright Mom." His voice was missing its usual exuberance. What did she expect? They’d just seen a person killed and watched Roger—she couldn’t think about Roger right now.
Just then Gloria received a text message from her mother. The text said, "Leaving now" in capital letters.
Gloria smiled in relief as she ran upstairs to help move Bobby along. Soon they’d be someplace safe.
Bobby was lying on his bed.
"Mom, my head hurts and my scratches feel really hot."
She’d been carrying a bottle of water with her, intending to pack it for the trip to Buxton.
"Drink this Bobby, it'll make you feel better," she said calmly, but she felt her throat tighten around the words.
Just fifteen minutes ago Bobby had been fine, shaken of course, but fine. Now he looked like he had malaria. It was like Roger all over again.
"Just drink your water honey and you'll be okay," she said again, choking back tears. Her son's final moments of sanity were not going to spent be in fear. She wouldn't allow that.
"I'll be right back, okay? I just need to get a drink of water."
Gloria went to the kitchen and stood at the sink, staring blindly at the faucet. Finally she leaned over and splashed her face with water.
What was she going to do? What the fuck was she going to do? In a few moments her son was going to lose his mind just like the people in the ER. But Bobby was her baby, not an adult like the man on the boardwalk or even like Roger. She couldn't leave him all alone to die.
She thought about the progression of the infection. Roger had been bitten about an hour before he turned. All of the people in the ER had been bitten at the same time. Bobby had been scratched at the same time, but it had taken him longer—almost two hours—to show symptoms. Maybe it was the severity of the bites that made Roger turn faste
r than her son.
A choice. That’s what she thought she would always have. That’s what this country was founded on, right? Freedom of choice, freedom to do what she wished. She still had a choice, but what nobody ever said was that sometimes she would have to choose between two unimaginable options. What if Bobby, in his twisted infected mind, attacked and infected her? Or worse what if she brought him to Buxton and he infected one of the girls?
Gloria grabbed the duct tape she kept under the kitchen sink and went upstairs, tears streaming down her face. She knew what needed to be done. Bobby was barely conscious. She rolled him onto his side so he would be comfortable. She could never kill her own child. He was young; maybe he would be able to recover from this infection. But, if she was going to help him through, she couldn't allow him to infect her either.
She placed her hand on his forehead; he was burning up. If it progressed as quickly from this point as it had for Roger, then she didn't have much time.
Gloria did something she’d never even contemplated: she bound both of her eight-year-old son's hands behind his back with the duct tape and then tied his hands to the bedpost with a rope. She finished by blindfolding him with a t-shirt.
Within a minute of being tied, Bobby was screaming and snapping his jaws at the air. She backed away and shut the door, then slumped to the floor and cried. Bobby was on the other side, making noises like a rabid dog.
Of course he sounds like a rabid dog, she thought, I tied him up like an animal.
It was necessary. If they both became infected then she wouldn’t be able to nurse him back to health.
This is temporary. He can recover.
Gloria shuffled downstairs, fresh tears streaming down her face. Taking Bobby to Buxton was out of the question now; he might infect the girls. If only she had some way to restrain him properly. A gurney from the hospital to strap him down, maybe. But she didn’t. All she had was duct tape and she was going to have to stay here with him.
Gloria tried calling 911 but couldn't get through; she was hesitant to return to the hospital anyway. Just in case Bobby got loose she went to the garage and retrieved a metal tine bow rake in order to fend him off.
The hours ticked by slowly. Gloria checked on Bobby regularly. Every time the door opened, Bobby would lunge in her direction. Once he was alone, he would eventually calm down and lay quietly on the bed.
During one of her checks, she noticed he’d pissed and shit in his bathing suit. The netting in the suit kept most of the excrement inside. At the thought of Bobby having to sit in his own filth, she burst into tears. After that, she stopped checking on him as often. It upset him every time she went upstairs. It would be best to leave him alone.
A couple of hours later her mother got through to her and Gloria explained what had happened and why she would not be joining her. Her mom was upset, but understood.
Finally, around dusk, Gloria stopped her endless cycle of pacing, checking on Bobby and crying, and turned on the television. The news was full of stories like what she’d seen at the hospital and the boardwalk. There were riots in every major city in the United States as well as many smaller cities like Virginia Beach, Pensacola, Savannah, Annapolis, and Colorado Springs.
A handsome young man popped on screen. He was holding a microphone and standing in front of a digital map of the world. He wasn't one of the usuals. Maybe an affiliate from a local station?
"Thank you, Wolf. I'm here in the CNN News Command Center with up to the minute information about the global riots that have broken out in major cities across North America and Western Europe. As of yet, we don't know why people are rioting. At first experts thought it might be caused by increased tensions among law enforcement and minority groups. But some of our local leads are suggesting that information is incorrect. Right now we don't know what triggered this. All we know is that the rioters have been extremely violent. We will have up to the minute updates on the hour and half hour. Back to you, Wolf."
Riots, Gloria thought, what a joke. What are they trying to sell us?
An infection was spreading, she was sure of that even if CNN wasn’t. She didn't know how it had started—that was for scientists to figure out—but she knew how it spread. The man who scratched Bobby had blood and mucus all over his hands. Some of it must have gotten into Bobby's open skin.
The thing that confused her was Bobby's scratches: they were deep and penetrated the top layers of skin but not excessively so. Nothing compared to the bites Roger had endured. She’d seen Bobby with worse injuries a thousand times throughout his childhood, and they hadn't even put a bandage over some of those wounds.
Roger had been bitten multiple times, deep enough that the saliva and blood of the man at the boardwalk was transferred directly into Roger's bloodstream. She was sure that must have had an effect on the speed of infection.
She wasn't a doctor, but she didn't need to be one to understand how a virus spreads. Bobby and Roger were two clear examples: one bitten and one scratched. The madness had taken over Roger's body within an hour of exposure, with Bobby it was nearly two before his mind became warped.
It was getting late and Gloria was scared. Scared for her mother and all three of her children. Scared for the world. Scared for herself. The television was like a car wreck that she couldn't pull her eyes away from. Cities were burning, societies unraveling.
Suddenly, an idea popped into Gloria’s head and she grabbed a pen and paper to write down some numbers. She figured the man at the beach had probably infected ten to fifteen people before being shot. Conservatively, she decided to assume he’d only infected ten. If each of the infected men and women only infected five people that would make fifty infected, total. As continued her math the numbers were catastrophic. Assuming an incubation period of one to two hours, there would be more than one hundred thousand infected in Virginia Beach within six hours of the ocean front attack. And that was if the man at the ocean front was patient zero; there might have been others.
With infections being reported in all of the lower 48 states, Canada, and every other major western city in the world, there would be millions of infected spread across at least three continents by morning.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The night passed slowly and Gloria slept in small fits that were disrupted by terrifying moments where she woke up, thinking she’d heard Bobby escaping. She turned on the news again, this time to a local Norfolk station.
"Good morning, I'm Cynthia Roberts with News Thirteen and I'm here live from the USS Harry Truman where relief operations are in full swing. The nature of those operations are classified. As of three o'clock this morning, if you are a U.S. Service member, you are ordered to report to your duty station. I spoke with Captain Ryan Howard, the commanding officer of this carrier, who told me that a full recall of all military personnel is in effect. That applies to all branches of the service, even if the service member is on leave."
The main news anchor spoke up. "That seems a little extreme, doesn't it, Cynthia? No matter what type of leave the person is on they’re required to report back to duty? What if their spouse has just given birth?"
"Well, John, I asked that exact question of Captain Howard this morning when I was given five minutes of exclusive access. He told me that when men and women sign up to serve in the military they know things won't always be convenient. In fact, he told me that in his career he has missed the birth of one of his children, countless holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries so he isn't asking anything of his sailors that he hasn't done himself. Despite the recall, Captain Howard mentioned they are suffering from minimal staffing because many sailors have not come in. The phone lines are down and he thinks many did not get the call. Back to you, John."
Gloria hit the mute button and tried calling her mother but, just as the news had said, the call wouldn't go through. At the bottom of the newscast, new information scrolled across the screen: "Any military personnel who are found to have knowingly ignored the recall order, will be
tried in a court-martial for desertion."
Would all of the men and the women in the U.S. military desert their families and go back to whatever base or ship they were assigned to? Was the call to serve their country that strong, when their own families were so close to danger? Gloria didn’t see how it could be. For the rest of the day and that night she kept her door locked. At one point she woke during the night to the sound of two gunshots. She’d stopped checking on Bobby. As long as she left him alone he laid on the bed in a dreamlike daze.
The hours passed with nothing to differentiate them. Sometimes she slept, sometimes she cried, sometimes she watched the news. There was nothing new. Nothing good, anyway. Cities continued to fall apart and news team after news team stopped reporting in amid the chaos.
On the second morning, as Gloria was finishing her breakfast and staring out the crack between the window and the blinds, she saw a man walking down the street, moving slowly.
Something was wrong with him; she could tell from his erratic walk. He was crazy. Or drunk. Later she heard the roar of an engine, followed by a crash. A few minutes later a mass of infected men and women ran by and there was a series of gunshots. At the sound of the gunshots, Bobby began screaming wildly, a sound that only a person ravaged by illness could make.
Gloria tensed, waiting for some of the infected to hear him and come to the house, but no one did.
Finally, the infected cleared the streets, moving onto their next victims. Bobby had been quiet for a while so she went upstairs to check on him. She slowly cracked the door and looked toward the bed, but Bobby wasn't where she’d left him.
The bedpost she’d tied him to was broken. Gloria took a cautious step backward and moved the rake in front of her to deflect Bobby if he came through the door. She had to tie him back up. As she grasped the rake she felt the unfamiliar press of metal against her ring finger. She couldn’t say exactly why she’d put the engagement ring on, but it comforted her knowing that Roger had loved her and that he wouldn’t be forgotten. The ring was a symbol of her family at their happiest.
