Slow Burn (Book 2): Infected

by Bobby Adair

  The sounds of the infected downstairs, fighting over the carcasses of their dead brought my thoughts back into the now. Like the infected who were eating the immolated dead piled behind the house, those downstairs had to have gone hungry for days before happening upon us. Whether that meant that they’d run out of uninfected to eat, or if it meant the uninfected who were left had gotten good at staying off the dinner plate, I didn’t know.

  I was coming to learn that well-fed infected were a lot less dangerous than the hungry.

  An hour into our internment, the light coming in through the attic vents began to dim. An hour later, it was pitch black in the attic. Noises in the house below diminished significantly and finally disappeared. I pushed my flashlight into the loose insulation between the beams and turned it on. The dim light it provided was barely sufficient for me to make out the shapes of the others, but I couldn’t risk letting any amount of light leak out of the attic.

  Murphy leaned very close and whispered, “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered.

  He said, “We can’t stay up here.”

  “I know.”

  Murphy said, “We can make it through the night, but when this attic heats up tomorrow afternoon, we’ll all overheat. We’ll stroke out or we’ll die of dehydration.”

  I had no doubt that Murphy was right. We’d have to do something, which meant we needed to know the situation in the house below and outside. I said, “If we’re quiet about it, we can open the access panel and I’ll sneak down and scope out the situation.”

  Murphy shook his head.

  “What?” I asked.

  He said, “If you go, Simple Russell might have a fit again. The dude has separation anxiety.”

  I shook my head, “I don’t think that’s what he was screaming about.”

  Mandi leaned close and said, “Yes, it was, Zed. He’s attached to you.”

  “I’ll go,” said Murphy. “I’ll check things out and come back, and we’ll figure out how to get out of here.”

  The issue was settled. I turned off the flashlight and Murphy very quietly moved the attic access panel out of the way. A big breath of relatively cool air followed the dim light that flooded up from below.

  After checking that the room below was empty, Murphy stealthily lowered himself down to the bed.

  I cringed as the mattress springs creaked under his weight. I strained to hear any other sounds in the house; only breathing and snoring. We were safe for the moment.

  Once Murphy got to the floor, I slid the panel over and covered most of the hole, leaving a six-inch gap on one end. I positioned myself so that I could sit on a ceiling beam and watch the bedroom door through the gap. We waited.

  Impatient minutes passed. I looked at Mandi’s and Russell’s ghostly gray shapes in the darkness. Whether Mandi was feeling as anxious as I was over the elapsed time, I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t make out the features on her face.

  I wanted to check my text messages, but that’s as far as that thought went. The bright light from the smartphone’s screen could give us away.

  I wondered about Amber and Steph. I thought about the state of the world. I thought about the future. I tried to imagine a way for us get out with all the infected below. They had to be down there. Otherwise Murphy would have returned right away with the good news. The primary question on my mind was what Murphy was up to. What was taking him so long?

  Whether thirty minutes or an hour had passed, I didn’t know, but when I heard a creak from the stairs below, I sat up at full attention, put a ready hand on the access panel, and waited.

  Several long moments later, I heard another creak. Another step?

  I looked at Mandi for confirmation that I wasn’t imagining the sounds. But that was just a habit of normal communication, nulled by the darkness.

  A muffled bump on the wall from somewhere below refocused my attention. I scanned what I could of the room through the gap in the ceiling, but saw nothing.

  No sounds distinguished themselves from the background noise.

  Long minutes passed.

  Another creak.

  Another muffled bump.

  Something was going on in the house below us. The sounds were distinct, but so patiently dispersed that it had to be Murphy.

  Through the bedroom door, in the shadows of the landing, I spotted movement and tensed. I put a hand on my holstered pistol and prepared myself for whatever might come next.

  Another bump on the wall was followed quickly by a second and a muffled groan.

  I was surprised when I saw the end of a ladder come through the bedroom door followed by Murphy, who was carrying it.

  I exhaled a long breath and felt some of my tension melt away.

  I slipped the attic access panel open. Murphy carefully pushed the top of the ladder into the attic and leaned the lower part against the edge of the bed.

  He climbed the first few steps as the aluminum ladder squeaked. He stopped with his head and shoulders through the hole.

  Mandi and I leaned close enough for whispers.

  Murphy said, “They’re all still down there. Maybe twenty or thirty in the house. Hundreds outside.”

  “Hundreds?” Mandi asked, her tone telling us all we needed to know about how defeated she suddenly felt. “You guys go. Leave me here.” She sounded on the verge of tears again. “You should save yourselves.”

  Murphy shook his head. “No. I have an idea. It might not work, but…”

  I finished, “…But if we stay here, we’ll die.”

  Mandi said, “If our choices are between dying or taking a chance, I choose the chance. I’ll do whatever you want, Murphy.”

  I said, “I’ve got nothing. What do you have in mind, Murphy?”

  After several long minutes of whispering reassurances and instructions into Russell’s ear, I asked him to follow me down the ladder and to do his absolute best to make no noise at all.

  I swung my feet through the hole and onto the rungs. I stopped and motioned Mandi to come close. I whispered, “If Russell starts screaming again, things are going to go to shit pretty fast. If that happens, go to the far end of the attic, cover yourself in some insulation and pray.” I stepped down the ladder.

  Half way through the hole, I stopped and coaxed Russell over. I guided his feet onto the rungs. It was just like dealing with a child.

  Thankfully, Russell stayed quiet.

  Murphy held the ladder steady under the combined weight of us both, but it creaked loudly in protest. I fretted with each step until my feet found the floor.

  While Murphy held the ladder for Mandi, I pulled my machete and pistol and went to stand by the door. My hands felt electrically charged. My blood was ready to burst from my veins and my heart was beating a manic rhythm. I was frightened out of my wits but I was catching a familiar, addictive adrenaline wave. I was ready to taunt the reaper.

  The Ogre and the Harpy.

  Russell came up behind me and looked over my shoulder. His baseball bat was in his hands, ready to annoy another infected.

  When I turned to see how Mandi was progressing, she was already down and lying on the bed. Murphy wasted no time in wrapping the bed’s comforter around her and tossing her over his shoulder. She was small for a girl. He was big for a man. It was the only pair of factors in our favor.

  Murphy hefted his hatchet in his right hand. Our eyes met. We understood each other. I crossed the landing at the top of the stairs.

  The stairs themselves were a bloody mess. I eased down, one slow, precarious step after another. Russell mimicked my motions and we reached the bottom without arousing any of the sleeping infected.

  In the living room, the moonlight revealed the infected cuddled together on the floor and on the furniture. A path to the open back door was clear. All we needed was silence and luck.

  I checked over my shoulder for Murphy. He carried his load with little difficulty.

  I stepped over sprawled legs and avoide
d broken bits of porcelain. Russell and Murphy followed, placing their steps in the spots I’d chosen.

  When my first foot landed on the patio outside the back door, I froze and surveyed the backyard. We had surpassed my most optimistic expectations for the plan. It was no time to let carelessness ruin it.

  My night vision was adjusted for the darkness inside the house so the backyard seemed almost bright. I heard the familiar sound of feeding infected and had no trouble seeing the spot where the grenade Murphy had thrown out of the back window had destroyed the fence and left numerous dead infected. At least two dozen living infected were still greedily feeding on those bodies.

  Alerted by my movement, heads turn in my direction. I waited. In turn, each went back to his or her meal. At the moment, I was of no interest.

  Whether they’d show any interest when they saw Murphy’s makeshift camouflage, we’d know soon enough.

  With Russell on my heels, I skirted the house going left. I stopped at the corner, one eye on the feeding infected, and held my breath.

  The Ogre and the Harpy.

  Murphy came out of the house with his cargo.

  No reaction.

  I couldn’t believe our luck. Would the chips finally fall in our favor?

  I rounded the corner of the house and stepped into the deep shadows among the shrubs between the houses. The ground was covered in a carpet of dead, crunchy leaves.

  I pressed slowly forward with all following behind.

  I turned at a gap between two tall shrubs to get onto the neighbor’s carport and out of the noisy leaves.

  I froze.

  A tall, infected man stood three feet in front of me, knees slightly bent, hands out to his sides, teeth exposed, ready to pounce.

  He’d heard us coming through the bushes and waited on his prey. When he saw me, he paused, trying to understand what I was.

  I didn’t take time to think so much as react.

  His pause would come with a high price.

  I stepped forward in a move that the predator never expects from the prey.

  His inherent reaction was to step away, but with a move I’d learned from a high school buddy who studied Kung-Fu, my left foot came down on top one of his, and all of my weight came over on top of it, pinning the foot in place.

  The infected man lost his balance and fell backward.

  Whether he intended to roar in anger or try to catch his balance before he fell, his brain would never have a chance to tell his body. My machete was already following an arc into the top of his head, which split down to the bridge of his nose.

  The infected man died as he collapsed with my machete lodged in his skull.

  The machete made a loud, metallic clank on the concrete.

  Russell was immediately beside the dead man and smashed him once across the chest with his baseball bat.

  I looked around for more danger. I spied no other infected, no other movement.

  Murphy emerged from the behind the shrub with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. His hatchet was up, ready for action.

  I stepped up to the end of the carport and scanned what I could see of the yards and the ash-covered desolation beyond.

  Nothing moved.

  I breathed.

  I scanned again.

  I listened.

  I heard nothing unusual. No frenzied infected howls, no running feet, no crashing bodies.

  We were safe.

  For the moment.

  I walked down the driveway to get a better view up and down the street. I saw the spot where the grenade heaved out the front window had exploded. The only human remains were torn clothes and scattered bones.

  The other infected had finished their work there and were gone.

  I went back and wrestled my machete out of the infected guy’s skull, then headed for what felt like sanctuary at the moment—Russell’s house.

  Long minutes later, we were back in Russell’s upstairs office, having checked the house to ensure it was empty, and locked the doors shut.

  Murphy said, “I can’t believe that worked.”

  Mandi harshly whispered, “What?”

  Chapter 25

  We hauled the mattresses from both bedrooms to Russell’s upstairs office. They took up most of the floor.

  I helped Russell get his shoes off and realized he hadn’t changed his socks in days. Well, not that I had either. I wondered how many months or years would pass before I wouldn’t be surprised by how different the mundane had become.

  I sat Russell on a mattress and told him to lie down.

  Murphy said, “I’ll take first watch.”

  “Um…” I started to protest, but couldn’t find any reason why Murphy shouldn’t.

  “Be quiet, Null Spot. We need to get on some kind of watch schedule, anyway. Good sleep patterns are important to your health.”

  Mandi smiled for the first time in hours, and said, “Look at you, Murphy. Mr. Mom.”

  “Heh, heh, heh. You can make fun if you want, but you know I’m right.”

  Mandi said, “We can talk about a schedule tomorrow. You two should sleep. I’ll stay up and keep watch. I owe you both that much, at least.”

  “But…” I started.

  “Null Spot, if you say anything about it, I’m going to decide that you’re a chauvinist.” Mandi’s voice was stern, but her smile was real.

  “Whatever.” I dropped onto a mattress and started to untie my boots.

  Murphy said, “I’m cool. Mandi’s up first.”

  I said, “I haven’t had these boots off in days. So forgive me if my feet smell worse than Russell’s.”

  Murphy grinned, “I doubt they can be.”

  “Right!” Mandi agreed.

  Mandi sat in a chair where she could see the infected out the back window of the office. “When do you think they’ll all leave?”

  “Who knows?” responded Murphy.

  I laid my weapons on the floor beside my spot on the mattresses. Three grown men going to sleep on a bed made of two mattresses. Talk about a new mundane. But that was my last thought about that. When my head hit the pillow, my body felt like I’d melted onto the mattress.

  I was exhausted. I needed downtime, but I was so keyed up, my brain so alert, that my eyes refused to stay closed.

  Murphy, apparently in the same predicament, asked, “So, what's the plan, college boy?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. We can stay here at Russell’s place for a while. We have electricity, food, and a secure place to sleep, but no water. We can drain the water heater. That'll be plenty for a while. The other houses on this block are still intact. We might have enough food and water to last a month or two if we're careful.”

  Mandi told us, “You guys should sleep. I’m not doing this all night.”

  Murphy ignored her. “Do you think this place is safe enough?”

  I said, “I don't know. Is any place safe?”

  Mandi said, “Fine, if you’re not going to sleep…well, the bunker would have been safe.”

  I argued, “Murphy and I already talked about that. The bunker was trashed. Nothing works there anymore. It's a hole in the ground that we'd have to build out from scratch. We’d need a way to collect rain water. We’d need a way to generate and store electricity. We’d have to clean it out. Not just the bodies, but all the crap down there. I think its only advantage is that it's underground and relatively hidden.”

  Murphy added, “If we're going to spend the time building a place to stay, I don't think that's the place to do it. There aren't any resources around. I mean, if the bunker was stocked and functional, then I'd say let’s stay there for six months or a year and wait for things to settle down. But as it is right now, no.”

  “Whether we like it or not, we need to find a way to feed ourselves. That means that at some point, we need to learn how to farm. We have to grow our own food, raise some chickens, stuff like that,” I said.

  Mandi said, “There's got
to be plenty of food in houses and grocery stores. We should be able to scavenge that and eat for a long time. I don’t know how many people are out there doing the same thing right now but there’s got to be plenty for everybody. We might go for years. We might be able to eat canned food forever.”

  I said, “Yum.”

  “It's better than going hungry,” Mandi countered.

  “And better than all the vending machine crap we were eating,” said Murphy.

  I asked, “So, what are our choices, really? We need to be able to protect ourselves from the infected. We need places where we can scavenge. We need a water source. Are we going to rely only on scavenging, or are we going to grow our own chickens and carrots and stuff?”

  “What’s your thing with chickens, Zed?” Murphy asked.

  Mandi brushed by Murphy’s comment and said, “Assuming that we're not going to find a fully stocked doomsday bunker anywhere, it sounds like we’re deciding between a place in town or a place in the country.”

  Murphy laughed. “That's one way to put it, isn't it?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I said. “I mean, we could probably wander out east and find any one of a thousand farms or ranches with no living owners. They probably all have wells, so water shouldn't be a problem. If we could find one with solar panels or wind turbines installed to generate electricity, then so much the better.”

  Mandi said, “That doesn't sound so bad, I guess.”

  I said, “If we stay in town, something centrally located is probably best. That would give us access to the most stuff to scrounge. But in the short run, there'll be a lot more infected to deal with in town than in the country, just because that's where they are right now. In the long run, who knows? I'm guessing that the infected will end up near whatever place has available food. If they start eating each other, like Jerome said...”

  “Jerome the Liar,” Murphy corrected.

  “Yeah, him,” I continued. “Then who knows? Maybe they'll all stay in the cities.”

  Mandi said, “I want to go where they won’t be.”

  “Like I said, who knows where that’s gonna be?” I stared at the ceiling for bit after that. Russell started to snore.