He spotted movement ahead. Angie was randomly walking around in Grandma's backyard, not thirty feet away. She was hidden from the alley because she was almost directly in front of the garage. Fortunately Grandma had fences lined with many flowers and bushes, making it nearly impossible for anyone to see through without effort. It was unlikely Angie would notice him sneaking around the yard next to her. But he didn't know what to do next.
There were probably many kinds of weapons in the garages behind any number of these houses, but the thieves in the alleyway put the fear of god in him. He'd rather face Angie bare-handed than face three men with guns and an angry look in their eyes.
His only real option was to get her attention somehow, then get her to follow him out of her yard, giving him time to swoop in, unlock the cellar door, and then seal the door to keep her out. He formed his plan quickly, not wanting to delay to the point new elements wander in—such as the men in the alley, the zombies in the houses, or just trigger-happy neighbors who might think he himself was infected. He'd read the stories...
He worked up a plan based around distracting Angie, getting her to follow him as he ran between and in front of the houses, as a means to getting him in the back door while she was elsewhere. Each corridor between the flats met the backyards with two gates—one for each neighbor's yard. He intended to guide her to a gate that was closed so he could jump it and leave her in the corridor to rot.
Unless she can climb.
Before he could even think about starting, Angie was over the fence and heading his way. She must have noticed him in the next yard and somehow managed to get over the fence. The noise of the sirens covered her approach as he was looking around the far side of the house, waiting to begin his great plan.
She was ten feet away before his brain kicked in—much faster than the Yoga girl incident—and he began to run up the corridor toward the front of the neighbor's house. Angie was fast, not running, but sauntering at a good clip.
How did Grandma outrun her?
He rounded the corner of the front of the house, not even bothering to look behind him. He knew she was coming.
Liam quickly ran across both front yards, the small curvature of the zoysia-covered hills inserted a threat into his brain that if he slipped and twisted an ankle now, he would likely die twenty seconds later. Even a minor mistake would be unforgiving. He did not twist an ankle. Soon he was around the corner, chancing a look back he could see Angie was plowing across the yards. Not relenting in the least.
He plunged into the corridor, pushing his hand into his front jeans pocket to retrieve the key he would need to open the back door. He made good time to the back fence blocking this side of the house and took a leap, hoping to clear it in one bound like a stunt man. He was anything but a pro as he grazed the top of the fence, dropping the key in the process—it squirted backward onto the walkway. It was now on the wrong side. He fell into the yard, wondering if anyone saw his embarrassing mistake.
Unbelievable, he thought. He was THAT GUY from every horror movie ever made. The idiot who gets killed because he couldn't handle himself well enough to make good on his easy escape.
Liam stood up just as Angie was rounding the front corner of the house. She paused ever so slightly, as if she had to reacquire Liam now that he'd been out of sight for a few seconds.
Liam's brain was finally, thankfully, firing on all cylinders. He jumped the fence in one clean bound, stooped down to pick up the key, dropped it in his pocket, and turned around to jump back over. He had bent over to get some power in his legs to spring up, he was off the ground, and he felt hands on his back. The hands shoved him hard into the fence, but his strength and momentum carried the day, though he had some serious scrapes on his thighs and bruised his shoulder on his second ill-timed landing.
He was on his feet again, running for his back door. Ahead he noticed Grandma's porch swing was lying against the gate on the other side of the house. It provided a ladder-like way to get over the neighbor's fence. He didn't dwell on it.
The key opened the basement door. Without a second glance Liam shut the door behind him, locking it quickly. For the first time since he’d move in he was glad to be greeted by the aroma of mold mixed with mothballs. On a whim he unplugged the nearby dryer, yanked off the venting, and pushed the whole appliance directly in front of the small door.
He sat down in front of the dryer to collect his thoughts. Strangely, he felt nothing. No fear. No sadness. Nothing. It was just a series of episodes culminating in him sitting here on this basement floor, alive. For now, that was all that mattered.
It wasn't long before the sirens spun down. He estimated they'd been going for an hour.
About the time it takes a dumb teenager to figure out his world is broken.
As the shock morphed into quiet exhaustion, he drifted off into thoughts of what he'd just lived through. He played the morning over and over in his head, as if to confirm it actually happened. Eventually he returned to the present and stood up. He realized he had to get upstairs to check on Grandma. Looking at his watch, it had already been twenty minutes since the sirens stopped...
Chapter 4: Quantum Decisions
Marty woke standing in her backyard, barefoot.
It was summer. It was sunrise. It was breathtaking.
A bluebird had landed in the birdbath not five feet in front of her and was busy primping as if it didn't have a care in the world. Certainly an old lady presented no threat. Soon other birds joined the pool party, and she just stood there like a giddy school girl watching the magic of Mother Nature within those tiny creatures.
“Welcome aboard Marty.”
A man's voice. Standing right there beside her was Al—short for Aloysius, a name he hated. Her deceased husband was with her once again—or she was with him. She really couldn't tell. It felt like he was always there, just like the old days. In a sense she felt that never really changed, even after he was gone. Al has always been there beside her, but today he was there in the literal sense, and it was so wonderful, she thought.
Al was young again! She could see his blond hair, the deep blue eyes, the smile which charmed her from the moment they met. He looked no older than the young man she met 75 years ago. He was dressed smartly in his Army uniform—just like the day he packed off to war. He knew how much she loved a man in uniform. And he was standing right next to her again.
“Pinch me Al. I'm dead. I think I'm in Heaven.”
“Hiya Marty. How ya doin'?” The Jersey drawl was exaggerated as he loved to do when he was trying to impress her. And he called her by her nickname too, which he always did. She really hated her name just as much as Al hated his. What were the odds?
“You aren't in Heaven, but I know how you feel. It's great to see you again.”
Marty looked around. Everything was so perfect, it just HAD to be Heaven. But if it wasn't—she had a sudden fear that if this wasn't Heaven, it might be...somewhere else.
Al reassured her they weren't in the bad place.
“We are merely taking a stroll in your mind. Your recent trauma has led you to me, or me to you. Hard to say. This is a way to reunite and look at what comes next. Are you ready for what comes next?”
She admitted she had no idea what he was talking about.
“The plague. The infected dead. The chaos. Are you ready to help your family survive this thing or not?”
“Al, my love, you might not have noticed, but I'm 104. My days of doing much of anything important are well behind me.”
“Said the lady who single-handedly fought off a horrific infected woman who was once your nurse. Not many people would have been able to survive that. You're a fighter. Have been since the day we met. That was really amazing how you remembered that old rope.”
“I felt your presence helping me figure it out.”
“My dear, you figured that out all by yourself.”
Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. Marty's religious beliefs were very strong,
and she didn't believe in ghosts or spirits or anything supernatural walking the Earth. But she desperately wanted to believe this was real. He was real. Even so, she continued to think of the physical world.
“What of poor Angie? Is she still alive?”
“I don't think so. I think her soul has moved on. Her and many like her are succumbing to this sickness.”
They prayed together. Al and Marty. Just like the old days. Somehow she was on her knees, and they both prayed to the Creator for guidance. When they were done, Al took her hand and helped her back up, and they walked over to the patio and sat together as if it were just a normal day for them. It could have been any day from among the 70-plus years they had together. If it wasn't Heaven it sure felt like it to Marty. But it also made her sad to sit there with him, knowing he couldn't be real.
“But I'm real enough my dear. I'm here to help you face this challenge. People out there are going to need you. Liam is out there right now. He is young and reckless, but you know deep in his heart he would stop at nothing to protect you. He is probably riding a fire truck here right now.”
They laughed together.
“But why would anyone risk their life for an old woman? It doesn't make any sense.”
Al had a twinkle in his eye when he looked at her, but said nothing else on the matter.
They sat there for a long time, chair next to chair, hand in hand. Marty didn't want it to ever end, but knew it would.
“I have to go, and so do you my sweet Marty. I wish I could tell you everything is going to be alright and that everyone you love is going to survive this catastrophe. But you've seen things outside your window. Things will get worse. Then they will get much worse. The sick will get sicker and the survivors will become more and more desperate as their reality splinters. You have to look deep in your heart to help your family get through this. You are very special—that I'm here talking to you tells me that. You can help them. You can help everyone.”
“I'm an unlikely hero. I can barely stand up on my own anymore. And someone is going to be saddled with taking care of me...”
“You don't give yourself enough credit. In another universe you passed away peacefully in your sleep today. The opportunities for you in this one are still endless. You could live to be 120!”
Marty was full of questions, but at that moment a huge buzzard dropped out of the sky and landed hard right in the birdbath, chasing the bluebirds away. Its bald head was covered in blood, as if it had been digging inside something—fresh. She tried to look away, but those eyes were looking right at her. All the while the dripping blood made the pristine birdbath water run red.
Al appeared unimpressed. “I'm so sorry you must endure this filth.”
“What caused this disease?” She asked Al as he got up and pulled her out of her chair.
“My love, you were always whip smart. That was one of the things I adored about you, and still do. That is the right question, but the wrong time. The really important question right now is how can you survive the disease?”
“OK, how do we—”
2
“Grandma!” Liam was not quite shouting, but loudly whispering if such a thing was possible.
He ran up next to her bed and was comforted to see she was alive. She had been mumbling in her sleep as he approached and woke soon after. He tried not to think again of the possibility she might have been dead. Being alone scared him more than the plague right now.
“I'm so glad you're here. Things aren't right outside.”
He briefly considered mentioning he saw her out front struggling to get away from Angie but something made him avoid the subject and instead focus on his own encounter with the sick nurse.
“I ran into Angie and she chased me around the house, but I managed to jump the fence and get inside the cellar door before she could touch me. She has some kind of sickness.”
Grandma gave him a clear-eyed look, but continued to lay on her bed in silence. He noted she was still fully clothed, shoes and all. She was holding her prized Rosary, which wasn't unusual—but both her hands were on her chest grasping it, as if she had laid down and never expected to wake up. It was very disconcerting for him.
Liam watched her for a moment, expecting some kind of reaction, but she remained silent.
He didn't push the issue.
“Well I walked back from the library and it is just as crazy everywhere else as it is in our yard. There are speeding cars, people shooting guns—he left out the bit where they were shooting at him—and sick people running through the neighborhood. Oh and there are thieves rifling through garages in the alleyway.”
No response.
“Grandma do you know what's going on?”
But she had dozed off again.
Liam removed her shoes, considered trying to get her under the covers, but settled for finding a comforter and throwing it over her. She must really be bushed to nap when so much was going on outside, but Liam understood her advanced age gave her the right to sleep whenever she dang well pleased.
I'll just wait until she wakes up and then we'll figure this thing out together.
The hours began ticking away.
Liam listened at the windows. The city outside was in full on collapse the whole time.
3
Liam spent much of the afternoon resting from his ordeal getting home. If he wasn't checking in on Grandma he was fidgeting with the radio, trying to understand what was happening. Other than the emergency alert message—playing on all stations—there was no useful information forthcoming anywhere on the dial. They all said the same thing. Evacuate to safer jurisdictions. None of the radio personalities knew precisely where to go...
As the sun set over the city, Liam was checking the rechargeable flashlight he found in Grandma's cupboard. Liam's father was a bit of a Type-A and had insisted she have a fully stocked larder at all times, as well as a plethora of survival gear such as flashlights, sewing kits, fishing kits, and all manner of camping supplies. He also made sure she had a high quality tool box with an appropriate quantity of quality hand tools. He told Liam he knew Grandma would likely never use any of them, but anyone who was watching over her or helping her out would have everything necessary. Dad often dug into the tools fixing things up in the house.
As he was looking things over with his bright flashlight, he idly wondered if he himself was a piece of equipment in dad's toolbox for Grandma? Did dad send him here to protect her? Was he that smart, or just lucky? He always seemed to have a way about him that said he was looking ahead to what may come. Like buying insane amounts of ammo when it went on sale. Mom always said he was crazy, but never made a serious effort to dissuade him from purchasing his “life insurance” as he called it. Liam found it unnatural to ascribe any positive qualities to his father given their recent falling out, but he knew his dad did right by Grandma at least—giving her these supplies. Now he had a fighting chance to help her.
So what was he going to do next? Hunker down with Grandma inside her house? It seemed the most obvious solution given her advanced age, and the hostility he found on a simple neighborhood walk. Yet he was hearing the gunfire outside, and the men ransacking the garages didn't inspire much hope in things staying friendly on the block. No wonder that man was perched in his window with a hunting rifle. Staying home and riding things out was an option, but probably not a good one.
The other option was getting Grandma out of the city, or at least somewhere safer than this house. Where could they go? Liam was just a kid during Hurricane Katrina, but he had a vivid recollection of the people stuck in the New Orleans Superdome. Were St. Louisans lining up downtown at their football stadium this very minute? It didn’t seem like a good idea to have so many people in one place with a disease going around. It seemed incompetent, even to a boy of fifteen.
He could get a glimpse of more incompetence by listening to the radio. The broadcasts were decidedly unhelpful about instructing residents on how to survive this crisi
s, as all stations parroted the same line about “waiting for instructions” from local officials. The window for useful help was closing quickly.
Enough with the “preparing,” just tell us what to do.
Liam considered getting Grandma out to his mom and dad's house. Would they be pissed he took Grandma on an underage car ride? Grandma hadn't driven since the 1980's, and she probably couldn't even reach the pedals anymore. If they did drive out of the city, it would have to be him. On the other hand, maybe dad would drive into the city. That would solve his problems by handing the responsibility to his father, but something about that notion didn't sit well.
Liam tried to think things through. Was there somewhere better to drive Grandma? Maybe over to Illinois? It was a shorter distance in terms of time spent in the crowded city compared to driving south to mom and dad's. Once over the Mississippi River it was open country. At least they could avoid the plague victims over there. The big problem was Grandma couldn't just live in a car or tent somewhere eating baked beans until things got back to normal.
Liam hesitated to finish his thought, but he knew he had to look at all options.
I could just leave her.
It sounded harsh as he thought it. Could he leave Grandma on her own? What if he told himself he was going to get help and then come back and rescue her? Even as the thought entered his mind he knew he would probably never come back once he was out, especially if things were worse out in the wider world. Maybe if the military settled things down...
Leaving Grandma would free him up to travel light and fast, but the idea of ditching his grandma for expediency didn't sit well with him.
Oddly, he thought of his father at that moment. He knew his dad would do everything in his power to save this woman, and he knew it would let his dad down tremendously if he walked in the door saying he left Grandma to fend for herself because “she was inconvenient.”
Oh great. I'm now my father.
But, he had to admit that sometimes—just sometimes—dad got things right.
He was startled from his reverie by the presence of Grandma in her doorway. She was awake at last.
Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Since the Sirens Page 5
