The Infected (Book 1): Jim's First Day

by Joseph Zuko

  “We need to get back to the boat,” whispers Devon. Sara moves a little closer. Her grip tightens on her machete. She moves in behind Frank.

  “Devon, Sara, keep an eye out.”

  “Fine,” she grits her teeth.

  They stand guard at the end of the log. I slide my spear down between my back and the pack I am wearing.

  “Frank,” he pulls away from his brother. We lay the body down on the ground. He holsters his revolver. I hook my arms under Bob’s and Frank hooks under his legs.

  “Devon, you lead the way. Sara, watch our backs.”

  We truck down the gravel path and run as fast as we can. Bob was six foot two and two hundred and thirty pounds. I struggle to carry the body this way. Frank is a tough old bird. I can’t imagine carrying my dead brother like this. I would have a mental breakdown. Frank runs hard and seems like he could move faster if he wanted to. I am slowing him down. An infected pops out of the woods in front of us. Devon cuts him down without breaking his stride. A few more are behind us. It is incredible how they can magically appear sometimes. You look away for a second and then when you look back there are two of them. You would think I would be out of adrenaline but it keeps pumping through me. We move fast enough that they can’t run us down from behind.

  We are back out onto the beach and twenty infected turn to greet us. They mill around at the end of the dock, close to Frank’s pile of dead bodies. It is too many for Devon and Sara to take on by themselves and there is no way around them.

  “We have to put him down.” He nods his head and we carefully lay Bob on the sand. The second Frank lets go of his brother’s body he draws his pistol and hits two infected dead center of their foreheads. He made that shot from thirty feet away. My arms are shaky from carrying his brother. I fight to get my spear from my backpack. Frank pulls shells from his pocket, reloads and guns down another six monsters within a few seconds. It is phenomenal. I run over to the remaining infected and the three of us hack, slash and stab them to pieces. Frank reloads. I cut down an infected and look back at Frank.

  “Behind you!”

  Frank turns and there are fifty creatures both human and bovine, stepping from the tree line. Frank grabs Bob by the wrist. He drags the body across the sand as he shoots another six. Sara takes the head off the last one by the dock. I sprint to Frank’s side and grab Bob’s other arm. We pull with all of our strength. Frank can’t reload, so he holsters his gun and uses both hands to pull. There is a pile of bodies on the dock. Sara and Devon kick the bodies off the grates to clear a path. The monsters gain on us. We hit the dock and keep moving.

  “UNTIE THE BOAT!”

  The kids race to the boat and unhook the two lines. The infected stream onto the dock, they knock each other off into the water. They are closing the gap. At the pace we are moving they will get to us before we can get Bob’s body onto the boat. I don’t want this to happen again. I couldn’t save my manager and friend, Bill. I couldn’t save Bob, but I can help Frank not leave his brother behind. I dig deep inside myself and I pull harder. Tears well up in my eyes thinking about Bill and Sam. I convince myself that if I can get Bob’s body into the boat and not leave him for these monsters to feed upon, it will put a notch on my win column. So much of today has been a loss. I need this win. We finally reach the boat.

  “Devon, help him!” I let go of Bob and Devon takes over. I stand by the end of the boat and face the shuffling horde. I stab at their ugly twisted faces. I hit them hard enough to knock some of them backwards and that slows them down. They stumble and trip over the bodies. I will not let them get passed me. Devon and Frank pull Bob’s body down onto the back of the boat. Frank hands Devon the keys to the boat.

  “Fire it up, boy!” he pulls his gun out and reloads. He blasts off six rounds. It helps clear out some space on the dock for me to swing my spear back and forth. I get some distance from the monsters. My spear chops off head after head. Devon drops the key into the ignition and cranks up the motor. The second it comes alive he hits the throttle. The boat pulls away from the dock. I feel fingertips brushing against my neck as I turn and take a running leap off the edge of the dock.

  Chapter 12

  There is no reason I should land this jump, but I do. Somehow I make it. My chest hits the side of the boat hard and my feet splash down into the water. I drop my spear into the boat and use both hands to get a grip on the railing. Behind me the infected push each other and fall into the water. As my grip starts to slip, Sara and Frank grab my arms and they pull me onto the boat. I am laid out next to Bob’s body.

  “Thanks Devon!” I cough up at him. He looks down over his shoulder at me.

  “Sorry. I got excited.”

  The horrible island shrinks into the distance behind us. I feel a slight sense of relief. I did it. I helped this man. Frank pats me on the shoulder. We both have tears in our eyes.

  “Where did you learn to shoot?” Sara asks him. Frank digs into a storage chest and pulls out a tarp.

  “Boy Scouts,” he grunts. I can’t tell if he is feeding us a line or if he means it. I help him wrap up his brother.

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for the ride,” I stand up and look out across the bow. Vancouver is so close.

  Frank sits in the passengers chair. He stares at the tarp. I have to get this guy to help me. With him and his gun by my side I could get home much faster. How do you ask a man that just lost his brother to help you find your family? How do you ask him to risk his life to help you save your loved ones?

  “What’s your plan?” I get a little closer. He shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders.

  “I wanted to get my brother. After that, I didn’t care.”

  “Do you have a place to go?”

  “Bob had a cabin but I’d never been there. My place is...gone.” I glance over at the controls. The gas gauge reads a quarter tank. So he is not getting too far in this thing, ten miles at best. We are close to the shore. Devon heads for a multi-million dollar home with a dock.

  “I’m going home to my wife and kids.”

  “Lucky you,” he raises his hand to put the revolver to his temple. Instinct takes over and as his hand comes up I hammer fist down onto his forearm. He pulls the trigger when we make contact and the round whizzes over my head, inches from my skull. I go deaf. I lose my equilibrium and fall backwards onto Devon. He is pushed forward and hits the throttle. The boat launches at the dock. Devon turns the steering wheel and pulls back on the gas but it is too late. We slam into the corner of the dock. The boat grinds along the edge and the hull tears open. The impact throws us all to the deck. We cruise right for the shore. Unable to stop, the boat slides up onto the rocky beach. The blades of the propeller chew up the rocks. I reach up and turn the key and the engine goes dead.

  “Everyone okay?” I lay on my back testing for broken body parts. I’m fine.

  “Yeah,” the kids groan. I roll over to Frank and slide his gun away. I grab him by his collar and pull him close to my face.

  “What the fuck are you doing?!” my jaw tightens. He shakes his head. “I know it’s bad! I lost my best friend today! I don’t know if my wife and kids are alive! You think you have nothing to live for?! Look around, man!” Frank looks at Sara and Devon. They are terrified.

  “I need you. We need you!” I pull out my wallet and open it up and show Frank a picture of my family.

  “Look at these girls. They could be your granddaughters,” Frank sobs and grabs at me. He fights against me.

  “They need me Frank…I need your help…we could be a team,” I lay it on thick, but men are goal oriented. You give a man a project and they can excel. This is why men like to join the service and play football. Most men love to be part of a team that has a common goal. If I can get Frank on my team he might have a good reason to stick around.

  “Please, sir. Stay with us,” Sara utters. Frank looks over at her. His grip loosens. He looks back at the photo of my family.

  “Okay
. I’ll stay.”

  “Are you solid?”

  “Yeah. That wasn’t like me…I don’t…” he mutters. He is shaky, but if we can get him moving he might snap out of it.

  “It’s okay,” Sara rubs her sore shoulder.

  “What do you need off this boat?”

  He points to a duffle bag in the corner of the boat. I pick it up and it is extremely heavy.

  “What’s in here?” I hand it to him.

  “Ammo and more guns,” he takes the bag, slings it over his shoulder and reloads his revolver.

  The little beach we landed on is connected to a very well manicured yard. It is like a golf course. Amazing flowers and trees are perfectly placed. The yard leads to a ridiculously expensive mansion. The backyard is completely fenced off and there are no infected in sight. I take a big swig of water and make my way to the back of the boat. Up and down the beach there is nothing going on, nobody trying to leave by boat. No panicked families running from swarms of the dead. Maybe it is not bad here. Maybe the police were able to get it under control. I turn back to Frank.

  “What about your brother?” I look at the tarp.

  “We can’t take him,” Sara joins me. Frank nods his head and thinks for a minute.

  “He wanted to be cremated,” the words fight to get out.

  “Okay, we’ll do that,” I look around and find a tank of gas.

  I pick it up, then climb over the edge of the boat and drop down to the beach. Devon tosses me my spear and he climbs over. Frank helps Sara over the rail and gently lets her down. He takes a last look around. There is nothing that he needs. He slides over the edge. I twist the cap off the gas tank and toss some fuel up into the back of the boat. I pull out my lighter.

  “You wanna light it?” I offer my lighter. He shakes his head no. “You should back up,” they step back and climb up onto the short grass. I light some of the fuel that splashed on the edge of the boat. It does not take long before the vessel is covered in flames. I catch up to the three of them on the lawn.

  “He was a good little brother,” the words fall out of his mouth. “I wasn’t always the best brother…brothers fight and I wouldn’t pull my punches…I told myself it made him stronger…he was always there for me…I will miss…I loved…” he turns away from the fire and makes the saddest whimper I have ever heard. Sara puts her arm around his shoulders. He drops his head and cries like a baby on her. The boat burns and burns. The wood snaps and pops. Chunks of the boat fall to the beach. My fear is that this is not the last time I will see a funeral like this. Sudden, no time to mourn, and ending in fire.

  We stand there for a long time. I keep a look out, but I don’t want to rush him. After a good amount of time he lets go of Sara and pats her.

  “Thank you,” he wipes his eyes over and over. The tears have stopped but he keeps drying them. I put my back to the river and take a good look at the house attached to this yard. It has a large back patio and is covered in beautiful stone. There is a big hot tub, built in barbecue, outdoor TV and furniture. A large sliding glass door gleams in the sunlight. I head for it.

  I limp up to the eleven-foot tall door, cup my hands around my eyes and scan the room. Holy shit. There is a man in his eighties reading in a high back leather recliner. He puffs on a pipe. I gently knock at the window. He does not look up. I knock a little louder and this time he hears it. Up in the air goes his finger, “one moment please” and he picks up a bookmarker from the side table and slips it into his book. It takes a lot of effort but he stands up and puts the book back on the shelf behind him. He walks slowly over to the door and unlocks it, gives the door a hard pull and it slides open. He gives us a look.

  “Can I help you?” his voice is raspy from years of smoking. He notices the gash on my forehead, broken nose and the way I favor my right leg.

  “Son, what happened to you?”

  “I’ve had a tough day.”

  He steps away from the door, “Come in. Lock the door behind you. The world has lost its mind. I am Calvin Ramsey, Attorney at law,” he says it like he is doing a voiceover for a commercial.

  I step into his home and it is as amazing as the outside. Devon is the last one through the door. He locks it and gives it a good pull to test it. The old guy shuffles away and down a hall. It is a three thousand square foot living room and kitchen. The ceiling is vaulted and you can see up to the second floor walkways. Everything here is top notch. On the walls and shelves he has a large collection of mounted dead animals from this region of the world.

  “Where did he go?” Sara moves farther into the living room.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe he went to get a gun,” Devon grabs my arm. Maybe he did. Why the hell would he open his doors to this motley crew? On the wall hangs a portrait of our new host standing next to a beautiful woman. There is a noticeable age difference but she is definitely not his daughter. He shuffles back around the corner with a black bag and a little medical kit.

  “One of you might be able to use this,” he waves me over. “Come on boy it’s heavy,” I move quickly and help him. I take the bag. He points at the countertop island in his kitchen. “Put it there,” I lay the bag up onto the granite. “After I retired I needed a hobby, so I took up taxidermy,” he puts the medical kit on the island. “You folks look quite thirsty. Help yourself to whatever is in the refrigerator,” the group is as confused as I am.

  “How did you get all banged up?”

  “Car crashes mostly. Took a bad fall. Punch to the face.”

  Calvin breathes in a light laugh at my answer and then looks over at the group.

  “Go ahead and help yourselves.” The others move into the kitchen and open up the big built in refrigerator door. It is full to the brim with all kinds of good food, cans of pop and bottles of beer.

  “You want anything?” Devon pulls out a pop.

  “Beer,” without hesitation. Devon pulls out three bottles hands one to Frank, Sara and then me. It is a nice craft Indian Pale Ale and it goes down smooth.

  “My old taxidermy kit is in the black bag. Whichever one of your friends has the strongest stomach can stitch you up. I would help but,” he holds up his hands and they shake, badly. He shuffles out to the living room, picks up his book and sits back down on his recliner.

  I look at the three people in the kitchen. Two are strangers and Devon is, well Devon. Frank sips at his beer and stares out the back window at the smoke cloud above his old boat. I am not going to ask him to stitch me up. So it is the two kids.

  “All right. I’m bleeding a lot. I need you to stitch me up,” they want no part of this, but I need these wounds cleaned up. I do not want to get home to my family and die from an infection. I put down my spear and take off my backpack. I down the rest of my delicious beer and climb up on to the island countertop.

  “What are you doing?” Sara inquires.

  “Yeah…we’re not stitching you up.”

  “I can’t do it myself. I’m not happy about it either, but I need these wounds stitched up.” I can’t believe I am asking them to drag a needle through my skin. When I was a kid I remember a nurse needed to draw some blood. I was not going to let them take it. I fought, cried and would not give my arm over to the lady. I must have embarrassed my poor Mom so much, but I knew that needle was going to hurt. My Mom pleaded with me to let them take the blood. She was supposed to be on my side. Why would she be on the bloodthirsty old nurse’s side? Finally the nurse put the needle down and picked up the phone.

  “I’m going to have to call your father at work,” it was all she had to say. My arm was down on the table in a second. My poor Dad, he was not abusive or mean. We would get a spanking if we did something bad, but at the time that was a normal thing for parents to do. He was a good loving father and my parents are still together today. It all worked out in the end. They got their blood. Mom did not tell Dad I was acting whacky at the doctors and I learned you would not die from a little needle.

  I star
e at them until they give in. They wash their hands in the sink and then they find a set of rubber gloves in the medical kit.

  “Calvin, do you have any hard booze?” I request. He looks up from his book.

  “In the upper cabinet,” he motions. Devon opens the cabinet and pulls down a bottle of vodka. I reach out for the bottle and take it from him. It is some top shelf booze. I have not had any top shelf cocktails since my kids were born. I twist off the top and take a swig. It is smooth, and makes my throat and stomach feel warm.

  “You will want to clean the tools with this,” I hand the bottle back to him. I feel the effects of the beer and vodka in my brain already. I have not eaten much today and the little bit I did eat was lost on the side of the road in Portland.

  “I think this is a bad idea,” Devon puts the bottle down on the countertop.

  “Me too, but I don’t have a lot of choices here do I?” I swallow hard. My throat still feels warm from the vodka. I don’t normally drink straight booze like this. I am nervous and want to numb myself a little more so I take one last swig before they start.

  “I have some painkillers if you want them, but they will knock you out for the rest of the day,” Calvin asks.

  I wish I could say yes and down the pills, but I do not have the time.

  “No thank you. We need to get moving as soon as we’re done.”

  “Suit yourself,” he turns a page in his book.

  Sara has found a kit from the black bag. It has needles, thread and some needle nose pliers.

  “Have either of you ever stitched anything before?” I hope for a beneficial answer.

  “No, not really,” Sara looks to Devon.

  “Yeah, but it’s been a while,” he gathers up a smile for me. I guess it was to make me feel better, but it didn’t.

  Calvin turns a page in his book, “After you clean the wound and thread the needle take the two pliers there in the kit and use them to start stitching at the top of the wound,” he says not ever looking up from his book. What a weird old guy. He is going to sit there and read his book as a stranger preforms surgery on his kitchen counter.