by T. Gault
HONK-HONK. In the background of the news report the sound of a semi-truck could be heard in the distance. HONK-HO-O-O-ONK. The sound was louder this time. The camera began to pan to see where the noise was coming from. Just up Mercury Boulevard a dark blue semi-truck was headed in their direction. The truck was swerving and appeared to be out of control. The camera continued to follow the truck as it traveled off road, kicking up rocks and dust. Something was moving on the front of the truck. As it neared the area where the camera was taping, it became clear that one of the sick people was trying to get into the cab of the truck. The camera began to shake.
“RUN!!!” the reporter screamed.
The truck was only about one-eighth of a mile away from them, as the cameraman ran. The reporter could be heard behind him screaming as they ran toward the tree line next to the roadway. But just before the cameraman made it to the trees, there was a loud thud behind him and the screams of the reporter ceased. Suddenly the camera shook violently and the screen went black. I sat staring at the blank screen for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what I had just watched.
I bet you can see where that happened from the window in the den. But just before I stood up I noticed an odd reflection on the TV screen. Behind the couch was a dark shadowy shape. I watched it in the reflection on the screen. I froze where I sat, trying to convince myself that I was just seeing things, but then…it moved. I forced my head to turn and look. My movement caused the figure to spring to life. It began trying to walk through the couch.
Somehow I got to my feet and ran for my bedroom. The dark figure was too close as I ran past. It grabbed my shirt, sending me spinning into the wall. I slammed up against the wall, tripped, and stumbled to the hardwood floor. Before I could figure out what happened, I could feel its hand grab onto my shoe. I looked down at my feet to see that it was a man, and he was trying to pull my leg toward his mouth. I tried to pull my leg away, but his grip was strong. He gave my leg a tug and sunk his teeth into my jeans. A mouthful of my jeans was all he got though. I felt adrenaline rush through my body and I began to kick him in the face and kick his hands. After I broke his grip I dragged myself down the rest of the hallway and stood up as I entered my bedroom.
I slammed the door behind me just in time to hear the man run into the door. He began to pound his fists on the flimsy door and I could hear him making noises with his mouth. It didn’t sound like talking, but like he was trying to say something.
I backed all the way to the wall furthest from the door. My brain was working as fast as it could to run through what was going to happen when the door could take no more thrashing and the sickly person on the other side would stumble through the doorway with me cornered. I thought about climbing out of one of the windows, but if there were more of them outside, I would need some way to defend myself.
I heard the door beginning to crack. Then I remembered the old homemade sword I had under my bed. I slowly knelt down, keeping my eyes on the door, and slid my hand back and forth under the bed until I felt the duct-tape wrapped handle. I quickly slid the sword out from where it had lain for several months. I stood up with the weapon in my right hand; ready to hit the man with everything I could deliver.
Just when I had readied myself, the violent noises stopped. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The noise had stopped and the TV could be heard showing the news in the other room. I stood still for a few minutes, sure that the man was going to continue until he made it inside. For some reason the man had walked away from the door, the noise never came back.
I slowly inched my way over to my bedroom door and put my ear against the door. The only sound that I could hear was the male newscaster on the television. I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob with my left hand and held the sword in my right hand behind myself, ready to strike. Slowly, I turned the knob and pulled the door open. Nothing. He was gone. Something must have scared him away or maybe he just gave up. I stepped back into my small bedroom and carefully closed the door behind myself. “Where did he go?” I said out loud to myself. Again, I stood still and listened. The noise of the television echoed in the hallway. The familiar sound of the afternoon news almost made me question what I had just experienced. The thought of becoming careless or delusional snapped me back to reality. That...person...thing...or whatever it is, is still in the house somewhere.
I need a plan, I thought as I scanned the room for useful items. It appeared that I had the best weapon in the room already in my hand. I knew my dad had a handgun in his bedroom, which was just one room over from mine. If I were going to take all of the ammo with me, I would need a way to carry it other than in my hands. I quickly walked over to where I had thrown by dark red book bag and emptied the contents. I neatly stacked all of my textbooks, notebooks, and binders on the chair where my bag had sat. I put my arms through the shoulder straps of the bag and picked my sword up off of the floor. I paused for a moment, just to feel the odd, lightweight of the backpack. I had never worn it without forty pounds of knowledge inside it.
Again I walked over to the door and stood staring at the knob for a few seconds, just trying to imagine myself flawlessly executing the maneuver to get into my parents’ room. I took a deep breath and quickly opened the door.
I glanced down the hallway, to see the television. The screen was black again and my attacker was nowhere to be seen. As I stared into the darkness of the front room, I realized that I was blindly grasping for the knob of my parents’ door when the door was already open. Trying not to feel stupid, I carefully backed into the room and shut the door. Next came the task of trying to figure out where he kept the handgun and the ammo.
I tried to search as quietly as possible, but every little clank and clatter I made sounded like it could be heard from outside of the house. At last I found it. Strangely, the handgun was on my mother’s side of the bed, inside of an old shoebox. The ammo was not well hidden. It sat in almost plain view on the shelf in the closet. The .40 caliber Glock 23 came with three magazines, but only one of them was loaded. I had found one box of fifty cartridges and ten were missing, no doubt inside of the loaded magazine. It had been a few months since I had gone shooting with my dad at the range, but I still remembered how to shoot. I was a decent shot, but my dad could always out-shoot me without trying. After I loaded the two empty magazines, I placed the half-empty box into my book bag.
As I zipped up the bag, I thought, Could I really shoot that guy? I had shot at paper targets and tried to imagine that it was someone trying to attack me, but there are some real differences. The practice target has no eyes, it does not bleed, it does not run away, it does not feel anything, and most of all it does not die. I would only shoot him if I had to.
I usually carried a pocketknife with me, just in case. I pulled out my knife and cut a small slit in the top of my book bag and cut another on the bottom. I picked my sword up off the bed and slid it into the top hole and guided it through the bottom hole. Again I put my bag on my shoulders. I wanted to get back into my room to gather some other things. I would need a change of clothes. The rain was coming down outside and if I got soaked I would need to change. Using a maneuver similar to the way I had gotten into my parent’s room, I managed to get back into my own room. I packed two t-shirts, one pair of jeans, four pairs of socks, and two pairs of boxers. This was about all I could fit into my bag without over-packing it.
I heard a loud crunch from the other side of the house, and a solid thud following.
“What the heck was that?” I said out loud.
I threw my bag on and sighted the gun on the door. Silence. I quickly walked to the door and tried to prepare for what may have to happen. I flung the door open and slowly rounded the corner to the hallway. The TV was on again, but the weather was interfering with the signal. The channel kept switching from the newscaster to a black screen. I walked to the end of the hallway and paused once I entered the front room. I glanced to my right to see around the front door. Nothing. I scanned the front
room. Nothing.
I was about to walk into the hallway that led to the den when I heard something bump into the wall in the hallway to my left, next to the kitchen. I froze and stared in the direction the noise came from. I took a deep breath and slowly backed away from the entryway to the hall. I aimed the gun toward the opening to the hallway and walked across the front room.
There he was, standing still, staring into the den. He swayed from side to side, almost as if he were drunk. I leveled the weapon at the center of the man’s back and slid my finger onto the trigger. “Hey! Get out of my house or I’ll shoot!” I yelled. The man slowly turned around, but when he saw me he was not scared of the gun. He started to walk toward me, each step very stiff and labored. “Get back!” I screamed. “I told you to get back! Don’t take another step!” I commanded. He just kept coming at me and began to pick up speed.
BANG! The gun had gone off. I hadn’t intentionally pulled the trigger. The tension of the situation had caused my grip to tighten and I pulled the trigger. After the shock of the noise and the confusion of how I had fired set in, I realized that the man was still coming. I fired again. There was no change. Was I missing? I thought to myself. I sighted the third shot on his chest and fired. I saw him jerk from the impact but that was all. I brought the weapon up again and aimed at his head this time. BANG! The round hit him on the right side of his nose and exited out the back of his head. He fell to the carpet and laid still. Small bits and pieces of his skull and tissue were scattered on the wall behind where he had stood.
There was not as much blood as I expected there would be. The blood that I did see, did not look like I thought it would. It was dark and thick. It wasn’t bright red, like I had expected. I had seen people shot in movies before, and had an idea of what it would look like. It was not too far off of what the skilled makeup artists could produce. Still, I felt sick to my stomach. The sight of the corpse, motionless, splattered and bleeding didn’t make me sick. The thought that I had just ended someone’s life, sick or not, had me on the floor heaving. I dropped the gun to the floor and threw up the only food I had eaten all day. “Why didn’t you stop?” I yelled at the motionless body.
As I drew my hand across my mouth to remove any vomit still there, I thought, He really doesn’t look any different than he did before I shot him. His skin was still the pasty pale color it was before, and his eyes were still the same foggy gray. I slowly stood back up and walked over to the body. I had never been so close to a real dead body before, at least not like this. As I looked closer, I could see that the man’s skin had begun to marble and in some places it appeared to sag, detached from the bones.
CRACK! Someone was pounding on the door to the den and the flimsy door was about to give. I snatched the Glock from the floor where I had dropped it. I tried to remember how many shots I had fired, but with the stress of the situation, I could only remember firing three rounds. I pointed the gun down the hallway toward the den and tried to ready myself for another attack. Many thoughts ran through my mind in those few seconds. I came to a realization, I can’t stay here. I needed to find more people. My house wasn’t safe anymore.
I needed to try to find mom and dad.
The only two phones in the house were the corded one on the wall in my bedroom and the wireless phone on the wall in the den. Kneeling on the floor beside the body, I felt myself paralyzed by fear. I knew that I had to get up and run to my room, but something was keeping me there on the floor. I forced myself to close my eyes and said, “Get up.” I opened my eyes and stood halfway, and stumbled backwards. I balanced myself on the leather couch and stared at the body on the floor. My eyes were playing tricks on me, making me believe that the body would start to move again. Reluctant to take my eyes off of the bloody mess on the maroon carpet, I ran for my bedroom.
I grabbed the phone off of the wall mount and listened for the dial tone. I could barely hear it as my ears were still ringing from the indoor shots I had fired. It was as though my body had blocked out the gunshots. I didn’t even realize my ears were ringing until I picked up the phone receiver. I dialed mom’s work number and listened to the phone ring. The whole time I kept my eyes on the hallway leading to my room. I didn’t shut the door this time because the door had already been damaged by the man beating it before, and I wanted to see if another one of those crazed people made it into the house.
I must have waited through at least 50 rings before I hung up the phone. “Crap! Why won’t they answer?” I said in frustration. Dad’s cell phone! I quickly dialed dad’s number, but was quickly disappointed when I heard it ringing in my parent’s room, right next to my room. I slammed the receiver to the base and hung my head. “I can’t get anyone!” I grumbled. But if I’m going to be out away from here, mom or dad might think to call the cellphone if no one answers the house phone. I stopped to think for a moment. But where am I going? I can’t just leave and hope for the best. I need a plan.
I grabbed a pen from the side pocket of my book bag and snatched one of the notebooks from off of the chair. I placed the notebook on the floor and switched the gun to my left hand while I wrote with my right hand. I stared at the blank page for a few seconds. What do I need? I quickly scribbled down things that popped into my head.
(1) Food...
(2) Ammo...
(3) Someplace safe...
(4) More people...
I threw the notebook into my bag and gathered my things. “Okay, first thing on the list is food.” I said out loud. I knew Food Lion was the closest grocery store, so that would be my first destination. I knew that mom had not been to the grocery store that week and food was running low. I quickly reloaded the magazine that was in the gun. I now only had sixteen cartridges left in the box.
I had a few dollars in my account and about twenty dollars in my wallet. It should be enough to get some stuff from the store, I thought. I had no idea what I was about to do, or exactly where I would go after I got supplies from Food Lion. I had to do something though.
Whatever was going on, virus, bacteria or otherwise had already infected Thomas. I didn’t yet know for sure how he had been infected, but I knew I needed to stay away from the sick people.
CHAPTER 5 - Chance meeting...
The rain was heavier and sounded more vicious than before. Before, the slight tapping of the raindrops was calming in a way, but now the rain sounded more like an endless flow of rocks being thrown at the house. I had waited to see if mom or dad would call to check on us, but during nearly an hour of pointing the Glock into the darkness of the hallway, no call ever came. I had to carry out my plan. I couldn’t wait there. It would be getting dark soon and if the storm knocked out the power, I would be alone and blind.
The cellphone said that the time was 2:43 p.m. Dad hadn’t plugged it in the night before, so the battery was almost dead. I had about three or four hours of good sunlight left. I gathered all of my things and slowly walked into the hallway, watching and listening for any sign of movement. I carefully walked toward where the corpse fell to the floor. There he was, stiff and dead. I still could not believe that I had killed a person. It was self-defense, I said to myself, as I turned to face the front door.
Just as I was about to take the first step toward the front door, I heard the floor creak behind me, in the den. I froze and felt the little hairs on the back of my neck come to attention. I gradually turned to look back down the short hallway into the den. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the sunlight at his back, stood Thomas. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew it was him. I pointed the gun down the hallway toward him and tried to prepare myself to shoot if I had to. I couldn’t do it. I whipped back around to face the door and ran. Right before I reached the front door, Thomas let out a gurgled growl and I could hear him getting up to speed behind me. I ripped open the door, stepped outside, and pulled the door shut behind myself.
Once outside, I was startled to see more of the sick people outside. There were two standing in the front yard nea
r the truck and another standing in the walkway up to the front porch. As soon as I came outside, all of them turned to look at me. I stood still for a moment just looking at each one of them. They all had those pale, dead looking, lifeless eyes. Every unblinking pair of eyes was locked on me. They must have heard the gunshots.
All of them sprung into motion and began to stagger toward me. The one furthest from me almost didn’t look sick, but he gave an excited low-pitched moan and immediately started to lunge toward me. I leveled the sights of the Glock at his chest and fired. The round hit him in the left shoulder and caused him to lose his balance. He tripped over his own feet, bounced off of the side of the truck and slammed his head into the left side view mirror. He hit the ground like a rock and seemingly made no effort to brace for the fall. Even with all of the damage he had just sustained, he still began to get right back up. I could see where I shot him, but he acted as though nothing had happened. He ruthlessly started to come at me again.
