Eva stared at Robin. "If you bring him in my house, something bad might happen to him."
The cold distant look in her eyes made Mike believe that something bad would indeed happen to him if they left him with her. "I don't think we should put him inside the house tonight. Let's give them some space."
"Fine," Robin said. "Ted, help me get him into the garage. It's not that hot outside. He'll be fine in there."
Eva pressing a tissue to her bloody lip, burning a hole in Rich's body with her stare, then stalked off, her head held high.
Ted hooked his arms underneath of Rich's arms and lifted him up. Robin picked up his feet and the two shambled along, half dragging, half carrying the unconscious man home. Rich remained unconscious the entire time, snoring loudly.
The house had a two car garage, and Mike opened the left-hand door, sliding it all of the way up on it's rails. A cot and a sleeping bag sat in the middle of the parking space. Empty beer bottles surrounded the cot, and an overflowing cigar filled ashtray was evidence that Rich had been in the doghouse for quite some time. Rich emitted a groan as Robin and Ted dumped him on the cot.
"See if you can find some bottled water for him. Between the hangover he's bound to have along with the beating Lance gave him, he'll need all the water he can stomach," Robin said.
A refrigerator sat on the far side of the garage, just behind a tarp covered car. On his way to the fridge, Mike tripped over a piece of the car's quarter panel sticking out from below the tarp. Curious as to why a piece of the car would be hanging down where someone could trip on it, Mike pulled back part of the tarp. He grew more and more curious as an expensive sedan was revealed, it's front end smashed beyond all recognition. The driver's side airbag had been deployed and now sat useless and deflated, hanging from the steering wheel. An empty whiskey bottle lay on the floorboard.
"Man, that thing is totaled! What happened to his car?" Ted asked. "Wait, you don't think--"
Mike's neck and cheeks began to burn. "Yes I do."
"It could just be a coincidence," Robin said, though the look on her face said she didn't believe that any more than he did.
Mike opened the second garage door, flooding the other side of the garage with daylight. As if any more evidence of the hit and run was needed, streaks of green paint lined the front bumper where they had rubbed off on the front of the car. It was the exact same color as Mike's pickup truck.
"No," he said, pointing at the front bumper. "That's the same color as my truck. That son of a bitch is the one that hit me and left me lying in the middle of the highway for dead," Mike growled. His cheeks flushed with heat. If Lance hadn't already beaten Rich to a pulp, he'd beat the ever-loving crap out of him right now. "If Ted hadn't heard the accident, somebody would have come around that blind corner and ran me over."
"That is messed up. A hit and run on your own neighbor," Ted said. "I can't believe it was him. You know what? Actually, yeah I can. What a total jerk."
Mike opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water, but a rage took hold of him. He tossed the bottle back into the fridge and slammed the door. Struggling to contain his fury, he stormed out of the garage. He had to get out of here, away from Rich and the car. There was no way he was going to play nanny and fetch water for the man who had almost killed him with his fancy sedan, and then led to him being stuck in a hospital surrounded by Shanxi patients.
"Mike? Where are you going?" Robin asked.
"Not now," Mike snapped.
Furious, he reminded himself that this was why he didn't have or want friends. This was why he lived in a cabin away from everybody else. His parents had been killed by the negligence of someone just like his neighbors. A drunken, good for nothing, sleazy contractor that cut one too many corners while remodeling their retirement home. The electrical system had been a time bomb waiting to go off, and one night it did. Mike liked to imagine that they slipped into unconsciousness from smoke inhalation before the fire got to them, but he would never know. As a final insult, the contractor got away without spending a day in jail, blaming his alcoholism for the accident. The judge released him with the condition he check himself into rehab within ninety days. Unrepentant, the man had smirked at Mike as he walked out of the courtroom and whispered as he walked by. "Good news. Time to celebrate."
Mike had gone home after the trial to the apartment he was living at back then, filled with an uncontrollable rage. He sat on his living room floor going through photo albums with family pictures from his childhood. He pulled out his projector and watched an old 8mm home movie his dad made while they were in Colorado. Several hours passed and he reached the end of the movie reels, and his anger reached the breaking point. Mike went to his gun safe and grabbed his Nosler .308 and a box of shells and headed out the door, murder on his mind. He knew where the contractor lived, and hoped in his pickup. Flying down the highway, he was there within ten minutes. Three state trooper cars blocked the intersection as Mike went to pull on to the man's street.
A wave of panic went through him, convinced they somehow knew of his plan, but the troopers paid him no mind. Disappointment filled Mike as he pieced the scene together. Two paramedics wheeled a stretcher away from a wrecked car that had crashed into a free in the front yard of the home. A sheet covered the body on the stretcher from head to toe. The ambulance crew was in no hurry and didn't put on their lights or siren as they left. The contractor was dead.
Mike later read the police report in the newspaper. The contractor had crashed his car into a tree in his front yard, coming home drunk from the bar. Apparently he had celebrated a little too hard at the bar following his courtroom victory. That was why Mike didn't trust people. A selfish, untrustworthy, reckless person had taken his parents from him. People were stupid and dangerous, and that was why he'd isolated himself in the cabin for a long time.
Now one of these people, one of his 'neighbors', was responsible for him being stuck here. Rich had put him in danger because of his selfish, reckless, drunk driving. If Rich hadn't been drunk and crashed into his truck, he'd be in Montana, far away from the Shanxi virus and all of the conflict he faced now. Rich was the worst of them, but the rest of the group made him nervous too.
A med student with OCD who couldn't stand the sight of blood. She was a liability. A moronic video game playing thirty-year old that lived in his mother's basement. He was a liability. Mike went down the list, mentally counting off the weaknesses of each resident of Oak Park. Every one of them had some flaw, something wrong with them, and posed a threat to him. They just didn't get it. Bugging in hadn't been his choice. Rich had taken that choice away from him, and he had tried to make the best of things, but he didn't have to keep helping the sheeple. They were going to get him killed.
As he neared his home, a red tailed hawk swooped down and snatched a squirrel out of a tree, and Mike was lost for a moment in the scene. The rage went out of him as he was lost in the moment, watching the hawk fly away. Nature could be cruel, but her rules were simple and he understood them. People were different. They were complicated and you never knew what was going on inside their heads. You just didn't know what rules they were playing by.
Mike passed by his house and went to the equipment shed in his back yard. He unlocked the padlock and opened the door. He checked on his ATV, still covered in mud from his last trip through the Mark Twain Forest. The ATV was an escape route. He was tempted to pack up a sleeping bag, tent, and some minimal gear and just bug out. It was very tempting. He couldn't pack many supplies on the little four-wheeler, but he could haul the bare essentials into the forest and wait the virus out. It wouldn't be comfortable, but it might be safer than staying in his cabin and trying to help his neighbors.
Mike was of two minds, wondering on the one hand why should he stay and risk his life for these people. His hand was injured, but he could make do. Rubbing his wrist, he knew that wasn't as true as he would have liked. His wrist hurt like hell and it would be a damned struggle to do anything wi
th his left hand like it was. Shooting, fishing, steering an ATV. All of those things, pretty much everything he would need to do to survive, would be much more difficult with a broken wrist and fingers. He cursed his bad luck again, irate at being left handed. If he hadn’t been a southpaw he wouldn't be so helpless right now.
Mike knew that like it or not, he was better off staying here and helping the neighbors as much as he could. They were useful. Without Ted, he couldn't have dropped those trees at the entrance to the neighborhood. Without Aaron, he never would have gotten out of the hospital. Still... if things got any worse, he could always go it alone and leave them behind.
He had always been alone, and he knew he'd be better off alone if he was whole and well. But he wasn't. He would stay for now, but he would be prepared to leave. There was a bugout vehicle intended to transport the whole group in case they needed to get away, but he reasoned that if anything went wrong, it wouldn't hurt to have the ATV packed up and ready to go just for himself. Mike grabbed a can of fuel and filled the ATV's gas tank, and then went into the cabin's hidden cellar to prep a bare minimum of supplies. He would stay and help as long as he could, but he wasn't making any promises.
Saturday, June 20th
Chapter 18
Jen stood at the kitchen sink looking out at the forested hills of the Mark Twain National Forest, lost in the rugged natural beauty of the place. Trees gracefully swayed back and forth as a stiff breeze blew through their branches, leaves in the canopy alive with movement. She daydreamed of filling a backpack full of clothes and food, walking into the woods, and never coming back. There were no other people out there. No Shanxi virus. No one to remind her of her failures. Leaving would be simpler than dealing with all of the problems that faced her now.
Steam rose from the sink, and she pumped liquid soap into her palms and began to rigorously scrub her hands. Cuts and cracks in her skin stung as the hot water hit them. Red and irritated, her hands had broken open in numerous spots from hourly washing. The act of cleaning them gave her no sense of relief. As soon as she began to dry her hands she felt the urge to wash them again, worried that unseen pathogens hiding in the fibers of the hand towel had already begun to rub off, clinging to her skin, multiplying and seeking a way inside of her.
Jen tossed the hand towel aside and forced herself to walk away from the sink. Half way to the living room, she felt the pull of the sink, calling out for her to give to her compulsion. It was as if she were tied to the sink by an invisible rope, and unseen forces tugged at the other end. Eventually she would tire, her mind overrun with need, and she would give in, running to the sink to cleanse her hands.
She opened her laptop, anxious for any kind of distraction from her thoughts. As usual, the news was all centered on the epidemic. Knowing that it would only exacerbate her phobia, she wanted to close the web page, but couldn't resist the temptation to watch the latest news clips.
"--Hardest hit areas remain under quarantine. Officials caution that quarantine measures have not been entirely effective and urge residents not to return to the area. In other news, hope remains high for a vaccine at the World Health Organization. A spokesperson said yesterday in a press release that while efforts to formulate a vaccine have been hampered by the loss of so many experts, progress has been made. Our own analysts suggest that even if a vaccine is formulated, mass production of the vaccine will be delayed for months or even years. The manufacturing process requires a large volume of eggs. In the government's haste to halt the spread of Shanxi, millions of poultry farms were eradicated. Without chicken eggs to reproduce the vaccine--"
Jen's cell phone rang in the living room, and she scrambled to answer it. "Hello?"
"Congratulations! You've won a free trip to the Caribbean!"
"Ugh! Telemarketers!" Jen ended the call and tossed her phone on the counter. Pacing around the living room, she picked up her keys and walked down the hall to the front door, heading outside. She had to get out of the house or she felt like she would go crazy.
Recalling the serenity she had briefly experienced looking out the kitchen window, she headed up the road towards the woods. A nature hike was exactly the kind of mental break she needed. A few hours away from the internet and the constant worry of the virus. As she left the development behind, the road turned to gravel. Lost in a daydream, a noise off to her right startled her.
Off to the side of the road, Lance sat with his back to a tree, head hung low, his hands covering his face.
"Hey, are you all right?" she asked. "What's the matter?"
Lance looked up in surprise. Crying, he looked nothing like his usual arrogant self. He quickly turned his face and dried his tears on his sleeve. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. I got something in my eye."
Feeling awkward to have walked in on a grown man crying, Jen didn't know what she was supposed to do. Her first instinct was to shrug it off and keep walking and ignore him, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes, much different than the cocky smirk he usually wore. He looked more like a wounded puppy dog than a wife stealing playboy right now. Empathy overruled her wariness of him, and she sat down in the grass near him.
"Want to talk?" Jen asked. "I'm a pretty good listener."
"This is so stupid." Lance looked down at his hands, clenching his fists. "How embarrassing. I can't believe you caught me crying. I can't believe I am crying about this. Lance Snyder crying about a woman. People would laugh if they knew. I've never cried about anything, at least not since my mom died when I was a kid."
"What happened?"
"Have you ever been with somebody that didn't love you back the same way that you loved them? Like they didn't feel it as deeply, and you knew they would leave you when somebody better came along?" Lance sighed. "I don't know. I want somebody I know I can't have. She's too good for me."
"Too good for you? Who is this mystery woman?"
Lance cocked his head to the side. "Really? I thought you had that figured out. I saw you watching us by the pool when you came home from college. I thought you had the hots for me or something."
Jen blushed, embarrassed at being called out on spying on Lance and Eva by the pool. "No! I mean, not like that, I just. It's so scandalous, you know? Not in a bad way, just. Wow. She's a lot older than you, and married. What I'm trying to say... Ugh. I'm really digging myself a hole here aren't I?"
Lance laughed lightheartedly. "It's all right. I knew it was wrong to be with her. She's married. I just couldn't help myself. She's not like the women I used to date. She's smart, refined, and classy. I know she is just using me, but there was just something about her, I couldn't help myself. I fell for her, and I mean I fell hard."
Jen shook her head in surprise, speechless.
"What? Surprised I care about her? You thought I was just in it for the sex?" Lance asked. "Admit it, you thought I was just in it for the sex, didn't you?"
Jen realized her mouth was hanging open, and slammed it shut. It was surprising. She hadn't suspected he would have this much emotional depth and honesty. She assumed he was just another uncaring cocky playboy with a chip on his shoulder. "I... I'm sorry Lance. I just thought that... It doesn't matter what I thought. I'm sorry she doesn't feel the same way about you. She doesn't deserve you."
"Neither does that dirt bag, Rich." Lance's face clouded with anger. "How he treats her is unforgivable. I don't know why she put up with him for as long as she did. I just wish that she would-- Hey! What's that?" Lance leaped to his feet. "Look! Down the hill. What are they doing?"
Several men in camouflaged protective suits and armed with rifles walked up the hill towards the homes below. The soldiers fanned out, walking through empty lots on both sides of the road as they approached. The soldiers were back, but this time there many were more of them. One of the soldiers approached Lance's house and pointed. Her view was partially obstructed by trees, but she saw bright orange flames come from somewhere, and then a column of smoke rising from the house.
"What the hell? They
just set fire to the house!" Lance yelled.
The soldiers moved up to her parent's house next and pointed at the garage door. A bright orange symbol had been spray painted on both doors. She squinted her eyes, confused. It hadn't been there yesterday. She must have passed right by it when she'd left the house and not noticed. She saw it clearly enough now though, and a shudder of fear passed through her as she recognized the symbol. A large circle split in the middle with a line, it was the same symbol she'd seen in the video from the internet. The one that showed soldiers burning down the homes of infected people.
The soldier gave a hand signal to two other soldiers carrying large packs on their backs. The purpose of the packs became apparent as a large gout of flame erupted from their flamethrower, engulfing her parent's house in flames.
A cold sweat broke out on her skin, and she lost her voice as she tried to cry out. The sounds wouldn't come out. What the hell was going on? Why were they burning down her parent's house? All of their things were inside!
"What the hell is happening?" Lance asked. "Look! They're torching your house!"
Three doors up from her parent's home, Robin emerged from her front door and let out an ear-piercing shriek. She yelled something and then went back inside and slammed the door shut. A few seconds later the door opened again, and Robin appeared with her daughter Kelly. Jen could hear even from this distance as she screamed at her daughter to run faster as they fled from the soldiers. When they reached the top of the hill where Jen and Lance stood, Robin collapsed to her knees, clutching at her ankle and grimacing.
"Help," Robin said breathlessly. "Get Mike."
With two of the homes fully engulfed in flames, the troops advanced again up the street. Jen looked at the remaining houses and saw that all of them had been marked with the same symbol, painted in fluorescent orange paint on the front of their homes.
"Jen! Go!" Robin urged. Kelly cried, clutching at her mother's arm.
The Shanxi Virus: An epidemic survival story Page 11
