by Bobby Adair
I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t a soldier and I wasn’t a boy scout. But still, I did what I did, and would likely do it all again. Perhaps I was trying to live up to some image I had of myself, and living up to that image was more important than staying alive if I failed. Or maybe it was all just a big basket of psychological Easter eggs left in my brain by the Ogre and the Harpy.
When I looked up from my thoughts, Murphy was looking at me. “Before I say what I’m going to say, Zed, I want you to know that I appreciate your offer to help me find my mom and my sister, even though the odds of me finding them alive are pretty much zero. But they’re my family, Zed. It’s my duty to go, no matter how small the chances of finding them. Hell, I might get killed before I make it across the highway. You know what I’m saying, Zed?”
“Yes. No. Not really.”
“Zed, I don’t know why you’re helping me. I don’t understand it. But I don’t want you to get killed trying to save some people who are probably already dead, or worse.”
I stood up and paced around the floor. I took my time collecting my thoughts before I responded. “Murphy, I don't know about your hero theory. Maybe right, maybe wrong. I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m just trying to do the right thing. It’s just that simple.
“Last week, I would have told you that the world couldn’t get any more fucked up than it was. Then it did. Last week, I made a living just rolling down the hill with all the. I’d get drunk and I’d get high just so I wouldn’t have to think about it. And you know why, Murphy?”
Murphy said, “I don’t think I want to know.”
I told him anyway. “Because I didn’t know who I was. I was just trying to be whatever I thought I was supposed to be and not trying very hard to do that. Well, I’m not doing that anymore, Murphy. I’m tired of taking the easy way out of everything. I’m tired of being ashamed of who looks back at me in the mirror. It’s just that simple. If that gets me killed, then I just don’t give a fuck about that. At least I’ll die proud of myself for a change.
“As for why I’m tagging along with you? I’ve got no family. All of my friends are probably dead. And if they weren’t they’d probably care as little about me as I do about them. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t even call them friends. They’re circumstantial companions. We all have crappy jobs and no girlfriends but we don’t like to drink alone. So, we hang out together and bitch about life. But none of us was ever going to do anything about it. It was always easier to just take another drink.
“On top of all that, you and I are the only people we know who are like us. I’m sure there are more out there, somewhere. There have to be. But in case you haven’t noticed, people like us are getting ostracized and killed just because we’re infected and we’re scary. Murphy, you and I are a persecuted minority.”
Murphy’s big laugh reverberated through the empty classroom. “Ain’t that a hoot? I go from being a mildly repressed minority to being a persecuted minority just because I got whiter.”
I laughed along with Murphy.
When we’d laughed ourselves out, Murphy said, “Zed, I think you’re right. Man, I think you’re a good guy, I mean, there’s a little bit of craziness in you, but maybe that’s what it’s gonna take to live in this fucked up world. I’ll stick with you if that’s what you want to do. We’ll have a better chance together than alone.”
Murphy reached out to shake my hand.
His hand engulfed mine and I nodded.
“And I’m giving you a superhero name.”
“What?” A protest, not a question.
Murphy announced, “Null Spot.”
“What?” A question.
“That’s your superhero name. Whenever you go off thinking about doing some superhero shit, I’m gonna call you Null Spot.”
“Whatever.”
Chapter 4
Murphy and I spent a long while talking about what we needed to do to get to his mom and sister, and what we needed to do to survive. Unfortunately, stealing an armored Humvee, if we could find one sitting around, seemed like the best idea considering all the other risks.
I said, “Murphy, I could check with Steph, if she’s still alive. There might be a Humvee over by the hospital that we could swipe.”
Murphy asked, “Who is Steph, again?”
“She’s the nurse we saw when we went to the hospital the first night. You were too delirious to remember her.”
“Is she cute?”
“I don’t think that should be your top concern anymore.”
“It’ll always be my top concern.”
I said, “No, that’s not what I mean. I think your first question should be whether a girl is going to chase you and eat you for dinner or whether she’s going to shoot you and run away. I don’t think you’ll have the luxury of picking the cute ones anymore.”
“Yeah, man, I heard that.”
“Oh, and do you know which uses less power on a phone, calling or texting?”
“Man, do I look like I work at Best Buy?”
“At the one by my house, it looks like they like to hire the white kids.”
“Mocha frost, buddy.”
I shrugged. “So you don’t know.”
“Texting.”
I asked, “Really? How do you know?”
“I’m guessing.”
“Sounds right to me.”
Murphy asked, “Wait, how do you know Steph’s number?”
“She gave it to me.”
“You’re a lot smoother than I thought, Zed.”
“I hear that a lot.”
“I doubt that. Hey, while you’re playing on your phone, why don’t you follow me downstairs and let’s see if we can raid any vending machines before we head out?”
I nodded and followed as I texted.
Me: Steph, this is Zed. Are you there?
Steph: OMG, you’re alive!
Me: Yes. Hey, are there any Humvees still parked around the hospital grounds?
Steph: Yes. Lots of Army trucks and stuff.
Me: Great! Any soldiers out there with them?
Steph: No. Why?
Me: I’m going to steal one.
Steph: Where are you?
Me: In a building up on the north end of the campus. How are things over at the hospital? I heard a lot of gunfire from over there the other night.
Steph: What do you know about what happened?
Me: Nothing. I’ve been hiding in a dorm since we escaped from the gym.
Steph: We?
Me: Murphy and I both made it out. He’s like me, infected but normal.
Steph: That’s great! There aren’t that many. The infected overran the hospital a few nights ago. That’s probably what you heard.
Me: Where are you now?
Steph: Those of us that could get away retreated into the hospital. We’ve got it sealed off from the fifth floor up.
Me: We?
Steph: The soldiers barred the doors on the first floor but that didn’t last long. The infected came in through the windows and we lost a lot of people. We went up to the second but couldn’t hold there. There were lots of people among us who were exposed who started to turn. We tried to hold on to the third floor by blocking the stairwells but they found their way through somehow. We thought we had the fourth but some of us were infected and started to turn and we lost it. Now we have five and up but we keep losing people as we retreat from floor to floor.
Me: How many of you are there?
Steph: Hard to say. 30-40 soldiers. 40-50 of us. 150 patients that we’ve mostly moved to the upper floors. But anybody who starts to show symptoms, we’re putting on five. When we get to be too many, we’ll abandon five and move up to six.
Me: The soldiers aren’t shooting the infected?
Steph: The soldiers want to shoot anybody who shows symptoms but the doctors won’t let them. It’s tense.
Me: I’ll bet.
Steph: There are ideas being discussed on what to do about the infected.<
br />
Me: The Army has already decided. They’re shooting anyone that even appears infected.
Steph: That seems to be the universal solution. Did that happen at the gym?
Me: Sort of. It was a battle zone. All of the soldiers around the gym got killed when the infected broke out.
Steph: That’s awful.
Me: It was. Your situation doesn’t sound any better. Are there a lot of infected trying to get into the hospital?
Steph: They’re swarming everywhere. As far as we can tell, the lower floors are full of them. Outside, we can see thousands of them on the grounds. The soldiers think they were drawn here by all of the shooting.
Me: Thousands outside?
Steph: Too many to count.
Me: Do you guys have an escape plan?
Steph: Escape? Where to?
Me: I don’t know. I guess everyone is asking themselves that question right now.
Steph: I don’t think anywhere is safe.
Me: We’ve got a line on a place but who knows.
Steph: I don’t think escape even matters anymore.
Me: Why?
Steph: The virus is airborne. Nearly everybody who gets exposed, catches it.
Me: But some are immune, right? I mean completely immune.
Steph: Yes, very few. But with the infected killing everyone who isn’t also infected, what’s immunity worth?
Me: You sound like you’ve given up.
I waited a long time for a response after that.
Steph: Zed, are you there?
Me: Yes.
Steph: The truth is, we’re losing this fight. We all know we’re going to die. It’s just a matter of time. It’s a matter of the number of floors we have to retreat to.
Me: You’ve got lots to go, Steph. The Army could still come. There’s still hope.
Steph: You’re obviously not keeping with what’s going on everywhere else.
Me: I just know what people tell me. If I’m not running, I’m shooting. If I’m not shooting, I’m hiding. What’s the situation?
Steph: Every time we find a city or a region that says that it has the virus in hand, it seems like they collapse a few hours later. Dallas, Fort Worth, Houston, and San Antonio are no better off than we are. Lubbock and Amarillo are a mess. Waco is holding out but we’re getting fewer and fewer contacts from there. The only city we’ve even heard about where there is no infection is Leadville.
Me: What’s a Leadville?
Steph: Some place way up in the mountains in Colorado.
Me: Why are they safe?
Steph: Remoteness? Easier to quarantine? I guess there aren’t too many ways in or out of a place like that.
Me: You wanna run off to Leadville with me : )
Steph: That’s sweet. But I don’t think you’re their kind of people, Zed.
Me: Too white?
Steph: That’s one way to put it.
Me: Leadville pipe dreams aside, what will you do? How long can you hold out?
Steph: Everything is working against us.
Me: How so?
Steph: To start with, all of the stairwells are full of infected. The elevators are useless. The infected are always there when the doors open. There’s no way for us to get out. We’re stuck. But we’re dependent on the utility system. Once electricity goes, we’ll lose water. Once the water stops flowing it’ll only be a matter of days. So, the food shortage we’re having is problematic but we’ll all be dead long before we starve. If the infected don’t get in and kill us all.
Me: I can see why you feel hopeless.
Steph: There is half a hope, maybe less. It’s brutal and it feels wrong but no one here can think of anything else. I feel bad thinking about it. I feel worse talking about it.
Me: What?
Steph: Help me with my decision, Zed. You’re a disinterested third party.
Me: Not disinterested.
Steph: You know what I mean.
Me: Whatever.
Steph: We think we can fortify the top floors and keep the infected from getting in. If we had enough food and water, we might hold out for a long time after the utilities go.
Me: You said you didn’t have enough water…
Steph: Let me finish.
Me: K.
Steph: People inside get infected. It gets chaotic when they turn symptomatic and then we lose people and we lose a floor or two. Then we have to try and reconsolidate a few floors up. We’re killing ourselves from the inside. The infected outside just exacerbate the situation.
Me: Ok.
Steph: One of the doctors came up with an idea.
Me: Which is?
Steph: He thinks that in the general population the infection rate is nearly 100%. But for us, it’s got to be way lower.
Me: That sounds like wishful thinking to me.
Steph: No, I don’t think so. Hear me out.
Me: K.
Steph: There are a lot of healthcare workers and soldiers here. We’ve all been on the front lines of this outbreak from the beginning. We’ve seen most of our friends and colleagues get infected and turn.
Me: I’m with you so far.
Steph: Just because we’ve all been at risk of exposure so long and we haven’t been infected yet suggests that many of us may be immune.
Me: Or cautious.
Steph: Yes, maybe. But Zed, there were a lot of us at first between nurses, doctors, patients, and soldiers. If only ten out of a thousand were immune and nine-hundred of those got infected while the other hundred didn’t, in the remaining pool of a hundred, the immunity rate wouldn’t be 10 in a thousand anymore, it would be the same ten, but in a group of a hundred. So, if you’re in that last group, your odds of being immune go from a nearly zero chance to ten percent.
Me: Sure, the math works, but there are a lot of assumptions built into that. Where is this going?
Steph: Where we’re at right now is that we all know we’re going to die. That is a certainty. We’re either going to get infected, get killed by the infected, die of thirst, or if some fortunate miracle happens, die of starvation.
Me: Such a wonderful world we’re in now. Escape then. There’s got to be a way.
Steph: There are too many infected below. We can’t escape.
Me: What then?
Steph: We have a few infected people strapped into beds in a room at the end of the hall. We’re going to hoard all of the water and food we can on the top floor and then fortify it. Then we’re going to use our infected to infect ourselves in groups of ten or twenty.
Me: Say what?!
Steph: A saliva swab from the mouth of an infected for each of us. That’s a very reliable transmission pathway. 100% reliable.
Me: Not exactly sanitary.
Steph: Exactly not sanitary. I just hope none of them has AIDS or herpes or TB.
Me: That sounds like suicide.
Steph: No. Some of us will be immune. This gives us a way to sort out who is and who isn’t in a controlled fashion. The ones who are immune will take the top floor and might be able to hold out with the supplies we have on hand.
Me: Everyone is okay with this?
Steph: No. Everyone is taking it pretty hard but if we don’t do something we all know that we’re dead. ALL OF US. This was the only idea that we had that might give some of us a chance. We are going to vote on it in a few minutes.
Me: What will you do with the ones that show signs of the infection?
Steph: Shoot them.
Me: I don’t know what to say…
Steph: It’s a hard choice. We’re doctors and nurses. We’re supposed to help people.
Me: What about the slow burns? They’ll show signs of infection but might turn out like me.
Steph: It doesn’t matter. Same solution.
Steph: Zed?
Steph: Zed?
Steph: Are you still there?
Me: Yes.
Steph: Are you angry that some slow burns like you will get killed?
I didn’t answer at first because the answer was yes, but I was more angry because I couldn’t think of a better solution.
Me: Take the infection. Kill the infected. It’s your only chance.
Steph: Thanks for being honest.
Me: How will the vote go?
Steph: We’ll vote to infect. It’s our only choice.
Me: Tell me before they infect you?
Steph: I’ll give my phone to my friend Liz. She’ll let you know if I don’t make it.
Chapter 5
Crowded isn’t the first word I’d choose to describe how many infected were in the dimly lit tunnel system beneath the campus, but there were a lot more loitering around inside than I would have preferred. There were places on our lengthy trek where we had to squeeze past groups of infected squatting and resting or others trying to push their way through a door to gain access to one of the university buildings.
It was a stressful hike, but at least the tunnels were cool and the infected showed little interest in us.
When we finally arrived at the door we were looking for, we exited the tunnel into the bowels of the university’s twenty-thousand seat basketball arena. We were just north of the hospital complex. We found a staircase that led up to the ground-level concourse that traced a path around the circumference of the circular building. Without speaking, we followed the echoes of our footsteps around the wide, deserted circle.
The ground floor concourse was walled in glass, so it was easy for us to gauge our location simply by looking outside.
When we arrived at the south side of the arena we saw the hospital complex across a concrete plaza and a lawn of dying grass.
Carnage left by the days-long battle with the infected was everywhere.
Military vehicles were scattered about. A few were burned. Most were just abandoned, some with heavy doors swaying in the breeze. The triage tent that Murphy and I had been in a few days earlier had fallen. The barricades were in shambles.
In the streets, all over the parking lots, and on the lawns, lay the dead. Brutal evidence of the efficacy yet insufficiency of military firepower. The live infected were everywhere, walking, squatting in the shadows, or running toward the hospital’s main building. The lower floors of the hospital were swarming with them.
Muffled gunfire sounded from the hospital, punctuated by occasional explosions. A window blew out and a shower of glass rained on the infected trying to get into the building. The soldiers inside were losing another battle. The hospital staff was losing another floor.
