We Are The Plague

by Steve Kuhn

  Wyatt sighed, but Gary gave him a ‘Shut-the-fuck-up’ kinda glare. He began quietly as he realized there was no other choice. “Gary, Gary’s mom, his little brother, Alex…” He trailed off.

  I interjected, “And how old is Alex?”

  Gary answered for him, saying, “He’sch eight.”

  I nodded and pushed on. “So it’s not for Alex… Who else?”

  Wyatt paused and sighed before continuing with, “My mom and dad. My older sister, Kate, her boyfriend, Chuck, and their baby girl, Hope.”

  Cutty, clearly agitated, dropped the food and the bag and said, “Fuck. Dat! We don’t need dis shit. I’m out, for real. I am da fuck out!”

  I never thought I’d do this in a million years, but I snapped at Cutty. I stood up, looked Cutty straight in the face, and said, “Calm your shit, Cutty! Nobody’s goin’ anywhere.”

  Truth be told, I flinched like a bitch on the inside because if Cutty came back at me, I was going to fold quick. Surprisingly, he huffed and fell silent. Phew! Thank God for that.

  I asked both Wyatt and Gary, “Where is everyone?”

  Gary started filling in the blanks, stating, “When the schit went down, it wasch like a warzchone. Mom wasch hyschterical, and everyone wasch panicking. Sche told usch to find schomewhere schafe.” His eyes filled with tears, and he couldn’t continue.

  I raised a hand at Gary to calm down and looked at Wyatt to take over from the beginning. He started over, saying, “My dad got bit fighting off two of them at the market before we left for the station. He was taken to the rooms with my mom while we settled into our floor space in the gym. Chuck heard the first shots and ran off to see what was going on. He didn’t even make it five steps when the blast hit him. It was probably a stray, but it blew his chest right out. Kate was holding Hope and watching him choke on his own blood. It was fucked up. He couldn’t even talk, man. Gary’s mom told us she was going for help and started off for the classrooms. The last thing she said to us was to find someplace safe.”

  Wyatt started sniffling, but fought through his tears as he went on. “Alex… he’s autistic. He just started screaming, ‘No-no-no,’ and acting out. He does that from time to time. He always hides when he’s scared, and he ran off into the crowd. We could see he was heading for the bathrooms, but we didn’t even get the chance to chase him. This chick came and scooped Kate up by the shirt and starting dragging her and Hope off towards the door. She was a military type… had a uniform and guns and all that. She shouted at me and Gary to find cover until she came back. They disappeared into the mess of people.”

  He paused and gestured at a water bottle on the floor. I nodded and chucked it to him. He took a swig and sobered himself a bit. All of us—we just sat there and listened to Wyatt. Gary sobbed quietly to himself.

  “Me and Gary went out and did what we do on any other day when we game. We got equipped… for real this time. We scavenged from some of the corpses, but by then those things were everywhere. We couldn’t tell who was dead and who was alive. The only way to tell was if you were shooting. Biters don’t shoot guns, right? So, we shot our way to the bathrooms and kicked in all the stalls looking for Alex, but he was nowhere to be found. On our way back out, we saw that soldier chick again blasting at some deadheads, but she didn’t have Kate and Hope with her. She was about to get fucked up, so we ran over and tried to help. She told us to aim for the head… and that’s exactly what we did. She saved our lives—got us out back and to a jeep with Hope and Kate inside. They’re at the house. We were headed back to grab some supplies for the baby, and then we were gonna walk to the station to find the others… ‘til we ran into you. We have to at least go get Alex.”

  I needed a minute to think…

  Entry 14

  The day continued to get worse. I told the boys we were going back to the plow, but left it at that. I didn’t have any idea how to tell them…

  It wasn’t really a priority, considering the situation thirty feet below us on the ground. We were about to dump the ladder over and get going when we saw the ten stinks at the foot of the tree. To complicate matters further, eight of them had been put down and two were still up. We could only assume someone came through here overnight, probably a group.

  Whatever they did, they did it quietly, and we can only hope we went as unnoticed as they did to us. That being said, we have to find a way to take out the last two from up here quietly so as not to draw the others back. Shooting is out of the question due to the noise. Moreover, as soon as we throw the ladder out, the two geeks at the bottom will be reaching up and trying to get a bite, so facing them on the ground is out as well.

  Strategy time.

  Entry 15

  The best thing we could come up with, considering the limited resources, was a half-assed sort of axe.

  Twenty minutes after the decision was made, Junior had used one of Cutty’s machetes to hack off a length of branch that was a little thinner than his own wrist and about five feet in length. Shouldn’t have taken that long, but he was hanging out of this little window at an odd angle while Cutty held his feet. They sparred back and forth, as usual. It ended abruptly when Cutty informed Junior that he was, “‘Bout ta drop his ass thirty feet down, out da muh-fuckin’ tree, just fo’ some peace and quiet.”

  Thanks to the bickering, the two roamers at the bottom were already onto us. With a combination of Cutty’s bootlaces, some extra strapping sliced off one of the backpacks, and a machete, we ended up with a pretty nifty spear-axe-hybrid-thing-a-ma-jig.

  The plan was not the best. I tossed out the ladder and climbed down to a height just above their outstretched hands. I cannot stress enough how bad they stink. Anyway, I looped my foot and leg in the rope ladder to gain some leverage and to steady myself.

  It took about five swings before I made any decent contact and a further ten or twelve before I was able to drop the first one. Unfortunately, the blade had come loose, so I had to scurry all the way back up and reset it before I got the second one done—not efficient, but effective.

  Now that the ground is clear, we’re gonna be heading back to the plow. I’m just taking a minute to catch my breath.

  Entry 16

  If there is a Hell… and if we’re not already in it… I’m certainly going there when my time is up.

  We made it to the plow after a careful backtrack, but as we approached it, my heart sank. There was a handwritten note under the wiper that read, ‘Thanks for the care package.’

  Our fuel cans were gone, and the tank was siphoned dry. Motherfuckers…

  We hadn’t even decided the next course of action when Gary announced that he had to piss. He walked the fifteen yards to the tree line to handle his business.

  Poor kid… We were still reeling from the theft when we heard him scream. We took off in his direction and saw the lurker that did it. It had him pinned on the ground and was taking a second bite at Gary’s throat.

  Cutty tackled it off of him and, with the help of Wyatt and Junior, they stomped it out while I tended to Gary.

  He was a mess. He was bleeding bright-red arterial blood from a gaping wound where his shoulder met his neck, and he was already shivering from the shock. His face was getting pale as I whipped open my bag and grabbed my gym shirt. All I could do was press it on the wound and talk to him… try to calm him down. It was futile. Every time I eased the pressure, albeit slightly, the blood would just gush around the outsides of the shirt.

  His voice was breathy, and he just kept saying, “Oh schit, oh schit… don’t let me die.” Tears welled in his eyes as we gathered around him with Wyatt holding his hand.

  I addressed him directly as the others stared in silence. “Gary,” I told him as his eyes met mine. “Listen. You’re hurt bad. There’s nothing we can do.”

  I mean, what the fuck else could I say? Tell him everything’ll be all right? Tell him we’re gonna whisk him away and get help?

  I kept his eye contact, but he really started to cry at t
hat point and frantically repeated, “Alexch… Alexch…”

  I took a deep breath, and I lied to him… “Gary, we’re going to get Alex. We’re gonna go back to the station, and we’re gonna find him. If we have to kill every fucking deadhead in the entire place, we’ll find Alex and make him safe.”

  And just like that, he was at peace. It wasn’t like some kinda dramatic movie shit. He didn’t have any profound last words—no deep exhale or anything like that… just shallow breathing then nothing. I stood up and looked around at the others.

  Wyatt, visibly shaken more than the rest of us and still winded from beating the geek, said simply, “I’ll do it.”

  Cutty handed him a blade, and the rest of us headed toward our useless plow. Wyatt joined us after he said his good-byes and sank the blade into Gary’s head with a sickening thunk.

  I swallowed hard and addressed the group. “He just slipped,” I began. I didn’t know how I was going to tell them, but it had to be brought to light. “Junior, Cutty, you weren’t just hearing things back at the station. There was a kid.”

  They stared at me blankly… but not Wyatt. Wyatt was getting pissed, and I could see it welling up inside him.

  I kept going. “Alex is dead. I tried to save him, I really did. He wasn’t moving. He was scared like I was, but when I grabbed him to bring him along, he screamed and they were on top of us so fast. He just… He just slipped.”

  Wyatt snapped. He punched me square in the face, and I fell to the ground. I knew he was angry, but I really didn’t see the punch coming. Cutty held him back and put him in a bear hug as I gathered myself back up.

  “Listen,” I said, wiping my face and checking for blood (there was none). “This plow is fucked. Our plan is fucked. There are other people around here, and I damn sure ain’t leading them to two women and an infant.”

  Everyone knew it was the truth. We’d all heard the stories of the raiders. We all knew that every group was a dysfunctional wreck, just like us. People were surviving out there at all costs, and everyone was a suspect. Even if the group from last night was friendly to outsiders, we couldn’t be sure—just like they couldn’t be sure of us. Honestly, if I was alone, I’d have had a decent chance of assimilating. I’d done it before, but as the numbers in a group rise, so do the chances of it turning to shit. It’s just the natural way of things.

  Wyatt protested, shouting angrily through a tear-streaked face, “Fuck you, man! All of you! You got Alex killed, you got Gary killed, and you’re gonna get me killed.”

  Cutty released him and let him storm around for a minute before walking over and talking to him, man-to-man. I could barely make out his words, but I heard Cutty say, “Look here, young blood… we all lost folks ta dem thangs. Shit, man, I ain’t nobody special. Wasn’t nuffin’ but a grocery boy when all this shit went down. Worked da meat counta.”

  Junior and I could see Cutty’s intensity by his body language. “What you think, boy? You think we all pro’s at ‘dis? I watched ma own mamma die. Ma auntie, ma uncle… all dead.” Cutty leaned in and put his enormous hand on Wyatt’s shoulder to get him to look up. “We all got one thing in common, man. We survivin’ the best we can. Dat’s it. Shit, I’da done smacked Junior in his mouf by now othawise.”

  Junior scoffed a bit, but it was like Cutty and Wyatt were the only two people left on earth right then. “It’s like ‘dis: We ain’t gon’ always come out on top, but we gotta better shot togetha. Gawd willin’, Gary up there right now lookin’ down at you wit’ Alex along ‘side him, and you know what dey sayin’? Look at me, boy! Dey sayin’, ‘Wyatt, quit bein’ a bitch, and take care of yo’ sista and that li’l girl.’ An’ we gon’ help you do just dat, young blood.”

  And that was that.

  So, we’re back at the tree house for now. We leave on foot at nightfall headed for the others. When we get there, if we get there, under the cover of darkness, we’ll get our shit together and plan our next move. It’s our only hope.

  Entry 17

  Three hours of sitting in silence. What am I doing? Are we really going to make an effort to keep a child alive? I mean, we have no medical knowledge amongst us. What if she gets sick? What if she cries over something harmless and brings the geeks right to us? I already have deaths on my conscience—Alex, Gary… Seriously, what am I doing?

  I left work on that first day headed for home like everyone else, and all I wanted to do was get to the people that mattered to me. I suppose I can count myself lucky that I lived alone. Being a nerd tends to have that effect. I did manage to get Mom on the phone briefly, long enough to learn that she and Dad were going to try and ride it out at their place. One good thing about that was I knew Dad was no slouch. He knew how to shoot, and he had the gear to bug out if the shit really hit the fan.

  I told her I loved them both and I would get there as soon as I could. They didn’t live too far from the city limits, so it was the most logical choice as a destination. At least we’d be able to regroup. When I couldn’t drive any further, I spent the next two days running.

  Geeks were popping up everywhere in little packs, but were, for the most part, avoidable. The looters, on the other hand, were a hardcore bunch. People were beating and shooting one another over the simplest shit. I saw a guy get shot, point-blank, over a pack of batteries. I saw another guy set a lady on fire over an argument at a gas station about who was next in line—on fucking fire! And these weren’t convicts and gangsters. They were just ordinary people pushed over the edge by fear and panic.

  I did make it to Mom and Dad’s place, but they had already fled. The note they left gave me some solace, though. It said that they held out until a big band of raider types were doing home invasions for provisions. They were kicking in doors and robbing people of whatever was useful. Those who resisted—Well, I’ll leave that to you to figure out. Luckily, Dad was never one to fuck around, as evidenced by the double taps on the two dumbshits in the doorway. The note said they were heading over to this guy Mike’s place.

  Mike’s a family friend, and he’s a real piece of work. You know that dude who can’t wait for all hell to break loose? He built himself a bunker on his property and had been stockpiling guns, ammo, food, and all that shit ‘just in case’ for years. I’ll say this much, if they made it there, they’ll be all right for a while. The only real downside would be listening to Mike say, “I told you so! I was right, wasn’t I? Should have listened to me.”

  I assume the rest of their cop buddies were eventually gonna head that way as well, and that would have them well sorted. That whole crew is crazy as fuck, and I’m sure they’re probably even enjoying themselves at this point. Hell, I bet they’re even having contests amongst themselves for ‘Geek of the Week’ kills. I can only hope.

  I couldn’t get there. On foot, armed with my little turd of a gun, I crossed my fingers for them and ran. I’m not cut out for this shit, though… I’m just not. I shit my pants for Christ’s sake! So what now? We’re going to go out there, once again in the dead of night, with herds… not packs… herds of the dead. Gangs of looters and raiders on our doorstep, and we’re just gonna meander on up the road to a house? A fucking house!

  We’re gonna have a machete-wielding, Green Mile, teddy bear; a half-cocked, Deliverance racist; a fourteen-year-old, emotionally devastated, gamer kid; and me… a gigantic, undercover pussy… not to mention two women and a baby.

  You better be worth it, Hope… You better be worth it.

  Entry 18

  I just sat down in the new digs. We walked along the road for about a mile or two following a thin trail of downed deadheads. On one hand, it was eerie as hell to know that another group was just ahead of us. On the other, it was nice to have the path cleared, so to speak.

  We broke off onto a gravel driveway of sorts with Wyatt on point, and he told us we were close. Seems we were heading to Chuck’s parents’ lake house.

  Junior told Wyatt playfully, “If ya see eyes an’ teeth, it’s either a lamebr
ain or Cutty… Shoot it either way.”

  Cutty snickered slightly and replied, “If any one o’ y’all take a shot at ol’ Cutty, ya betta hit me in da dome, else I’ma slice Junior up just on principle, ya heard?”

  Wyatt chuckled quietly and told Cutty, “Careful, I might take a shot at you just to see that.”

  I think we were all a bit giddy due to the fact that there was comfort in the near future. Wyatt was saying that the house backed up to the water and was already boarded up. They had also hung blankets and shit over all the glass to block any light. Couple that with the inconspicuous entry through the surrounding wooded area, and it seemed like a sweet, little hideaway.

  About a quarter mile from the house as the woods thinned on either side of the driveway, we heard a branch snap, which brought us all to a halt. As we crouched down to assess the situation, I heard a sharp hiss followed by a thump. Everything went quiet again, and the four of us looked at each other, puzzled.

  We kept slinking forward until another hiss sounded out followed by a similar thump. This one was closer… maybe fifteen feet from where we hunkered down. When the silence took over again, I whispered to the others, “What do you guys think?”

  They all shrugged without a clue. Wyatt suggested we just keep moving towards the house.

  As we passed a huge oak tree, a lurker that was barely visible in the darkness lunged at Junior, closing the small gap to within three steps. Just when Junior raised his weapon, we heard that familiar hiss once more, and the head of the geek exploded, splattering brain and gore all over the tree and Junior. We all hit the deck except for Wyatt, who stood there grinning and nodding his approval.

  Junior whispered harshly, “What in tha name of baby Jesus was that?”