As he came to the end of El Camino, there were cars again. And like the last, they were parked beyond the white lines on the road, indicating once more that they'd been abandoned by whoever drove them.
Atton was inclined to think that they were unusable, but optimism granted him the benefit of the doubt. A Ford F-150 was parked behind an old SUV. And on the other side of the road there was a Toyota Camry parked close to a disposed Jetta.
Atton tried hot-wiring the F-150. After a series of attempts, the batteries failed to come to life, which effectively explained why it was abandoned. He tried his luck then with the white SUV. He smashed the window, lurched his hand on the lock, and let himself in. He tore open the casing on the steering wheel, and cut the necessary wires.
It worked. A smile of victory as Atton raised his hands in the air. He set the gear on drive, and when the car began skidding along the road he realized why the car had been abandoned.
“Tires,” he sighed beneath his breath. He removed the wheels on the SUV and replaced them with those of the F-150. If the dimensions weren't completely the same, they were at least compatible enough to fit. At night it was hard to discern the differences in size between the two, but they were similar enough that Atton was able to fit the new one in with relative ease.
It was only once Atton started to drive that the variances in dimensions seemed more pronounced. One side felt taller than the other. Not by a significant margin, but under the wheels he could definitely feel the difference.
But no matter the case, Atton wasn't slowed down. His speed climbed the further along he drove, and so too did his resolve.
Transcripts of Dr. Nelson Shore
Date: December 7, 2002
Recorded Session: 11
Dr. Shore: So what did you think of the book?
Atton: I didn’t finish it.
Dr. Shore: Oh. Well that’s a shame.
Atton: You said I had until next week.
Dr. Shore: Have you started?
Atton: No.
Dr. Shore: Atton, what I am seeing from you is a sharp decline in initiative. Yes, I did say that you had two weeks to finish the book. But that isn’t what impresses me, or anyone else out there in the real world. If someone is committed to change, then they will on their own free will strive to go beyond the call of duty. Where is that enthusiasm I saw when we first met?
Atton: I don’t know. I’ve had a lot to deal with.
Dr. Shore: And how is that?
Atton: Tobias is getting worse. Last week I had to help pop his arm back after all the beating he took. Now they’ve put him in the infirmary, and I’ve been spending most of my time with him. You know, cheering him up.
Dr. Shore: Your compassion for your friend is admirable Atton. It truly is. But it is a distraction to your work here in our program. Last I recall, you were the one to whom the state granted its hands. Not Tobias. You’re the one that needs the attention. I can’t sit here and try to help you while you’re busy helping someone else. What this program demands of you is focus. Keep your mind on your own achievements, and should you have the time to do so I commend you to help anyone else in whatever way you can. But never lose sight of your own objectives. Please Atton. I ask this of you not only as your doctor, but as someone who is genuinely concerned for your well being. Your dedication to commitment has been your one defining attribute here at Wyden Hall. Please, don’t lose that now.
8:01 PM
Atton had the radio tuned to 99.3. For the entire ride all he heard was static. But just as he came within blocks of the station, a transmission started again. The voice on the radio, Atton could have sworn, was none other than Linus.
“Hello,” came the man on the radio. “Ah, I received word not long ago that survivors have set up a camp in Alcatraz Prison. They’re starting an evacuation tomorrow afternoon at noon. They’ll be arriving on a ferry at the pier in Fisherman’s Wharf. This is a call to any survivors in the East Bay area, and anyone else that can hear this. Come to Fisherman’s Wharf tomorrow at noon. A ferry will be arriving to take us all into Alcatraz Island. To anyone who can hear me, I repeat. noon, at Fisherman’s Wharf. Be there, because I don’t know when the next evacuation’s going to come.
“I’ll be broadcasting this message again in the morning.”
As the radio turned to static once again, questions rang in Atton’s mind. Why was Linus in San Francisco, and not back in Palmer with the others? Was Grace with him? Did he take her and the other woman they’d helped?
If there was one saving grace to the onslaught of questions beating in his mind, it was that Atton wouldn’t have to wait long. The 99.3 building came up sooner than he’d anticipated. Atton saw the radio tower on the roof before eventually seeing the sign on the wall. As he closed in to park, he noticed right away the sight of a Costco truck on the curb.
If Atton had any previous doubts about who the man on the radio was, then by now they were long gone. Now to find out when he’d gotten here, and with who.
Light beamed on the second floor, coupled with the sound of what he could have sworn was an active power generator. Out of caution, Atton chose not to call attention to himself. Even if there was someone alive inside, there was no telling what was going on inside the building. Save for the streak of light on the second floor corridor, it was far too dark everywhere else to be certain that there weren't infected lying about.
He went upstairs, and not long after he saw two dead infected, one lying beside the other. A blonde woman, and a shorter, Hispanic man. Their faces were covered in blood as dark and as thick as oil. The blonde woman had jewelry on her neck and on both her wrists. She had a ring in her finger identical to what the man had on his.
Transcripts of Dr. Nelson Shore
Date: December 14, 2002
Recorded Session: 12
Dr. Shore: I am disappointed in you Atton.
Atton: Then you heard.
Dr. Shore: The warden told me all about it. A fight in the cafeteria? How could you possibly involve yourself in such a thing?
Atton: Tobias…
Dr. Shore: Enough about Tobias! I am trying to help you become a better person. You were hand-selected for this program because at the time I believed you were the most salvageable inmate in this entire prison. And before three days ago you’ve never had a single instance of violent conflict.
Atton: They were going to kill him.
Dr. Shore: Who?
Atton: Who do you think?
Dr. Shore: It was not your responsibility to intervene. All you had to do was notify the guards.
Atton: They’ve never done anything.
Dr. Shore: That’s because you don’t ask for their help.
Atton: It’s their job!
Dr. Shore: Don’t you get snappy with me. I am not the reason you are under this mess. I have told you before not to distract yourself with the problems of your cellmates. Clearly you have refused to listen. This begs me to ask whether I am wasting my time with you. Maybe you don’t really want this transfer after all.
Atton: No. No please. I need it. Please, you gotta help me doc.
Dr. Shore: And why should I believe you?
Atton: Doctor. This place, it’s tearing me apart. Please, I have to stay with the program. I’ll do anything doctor. Anything.
Dr. Shore: Is that right?
Atton: Yes.
Dr. Shore: Then don’t involve yourself with Mr. Reiner’s personal problems any more. Get yourself back in the habit of completing the work I assign to you, and we’ll see where things go from there. Is that agreeable?
Atton: Yes, doctor.
Dr. Shore: I am giving you one last chance to impress me Atton. I suggest that you make the most of it.
8:07 PM
“Are you there?”
Atton stuttered, snapped back to attention. He heard a switch turn on, followed with botched voices from a radio.
“We...received the sig...nal loud and...clear. With any...luck...you'll attract
survivors by daybreak.”
“Let's hope so Jonas.”
“Yeah. Well...take care of...yourself Linus. Jonas, over and out.”
Atton nearly tripped on the power generator cord outside when he saw Linus sitting behind a radio console. There was no one with him. From what he could tell, Linus was alone. Linus turned around, and a shot of air escaped between his lips.
“Atton? What? What are you doing here?”
“Where's Grace?”
“I..uh. They're in the city, back where we left them.”
Atton gave a sideways glance.
“Why?”
He paused for a moment. Then replied, “Grace wanted to wait for you.”
The hesitation before he spoke implied that there was more behind whatever he was letting on. But under the circumstance it was hard for Atton to discern his sincerity. He was about to ask more when Linus shot back with a question of his own.
“Where's Eli?”
For the life of him, Atton couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Instead he shook his head. Fortunately, it was all he needed to do to make Linus understand.
“Shit.”
Atton sighed, “Yeah.”
“Well, at least it'll all be over by tomorrow.”
Atton narrowed his eyes to try and understand what exactly that meant.
“Evac is coming tomorrow.”
As amazing as that was, the answer only raised more questions.
“Are these people government?”
“No. Just people like us.”
A sigh.
“Can you believe it? It's finally going to be over.”
His cheeks broached on the verge of laughter, then reverted back to mere content.
“I hope my wife's alright.”
“I'm sure she is.”
Linus chuckled.
“Hey, maybe when we get to the island you can find yourself a woman.”
It was hard allowing himself to laugh at a time like this. And yet harder still not to. When he let himself believe that all his problems were going to end come tomorrow morning, he could feel the tension in his wretched soul lift, bringing a smile to his lips, and along with so much more. The spasms in his gut were beyond his control. Atton Stone chortled.
Linus shifted in his seat when he made an involuntary groan.
“You okay?” Atton asked.
“Yeah.”
He raised his arm to stretch, revealing blood on his sleeve.
“What happened?”
“I,” he stopped. “It's just a scratch.”
“Show me.”
“What? No.”
“Show me.”
Linus pulled himself away, which only made Atton persist even more. He forced himself on the injured arm, and finally tugged it towards him.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Atton pulled open the sleeve. A bite mark, large and deep, laid crescent over his arm. The dotted puncture marks on his skin were fresh, but the bleeding had stopped. In so many ways it looked exactly the same as the bite marks on Eli. It was every bit as grotesque, and it made him feel equally hopeless.
“It was a dog bite. I saw a dog and he ran straight towards me. I’m fine Atton. Really. Dogs can’t carry the infection. It’s a human disease. But these were dogs, so we shouldn’t have a problem.”
Atton couldn’t blame the man for lying. For what it was worth he wished he could have even brought himself to believe him. A dog bite would have been nothing to deal with. All they’d have to do if anything was scavenge an animal pharmacy for rabies shots. The problem would have been gone before it could even begin.
But this. There was no curing this. There was no getting better from the infection coursing inside his system. There was only one solution to be had, and that solution rested in the shotgun saddled on his hands.
Atton gently closed the door behind him. Tears trickled down his eyes as he struggled to muster the words.
“I’m sorry brother.”
Transcripts of Dr. Nelson Shore
Date: December 21, 2002
Recorded Session: 13
Dr. Shore: I heard what happened to your cellmate.
Atton: Tobias.
Dr. Shore: I’m sorry.
Atton: I was the first one to see him die. But I didn’t know what he was going to do until he broke the glass. I told him to stop. But he stopped caring. It didn’t matter to him what I had to say. Not anymore. I stopped listening, and he turned away just like that.
Dr. Shore: It must have been difficult to witness. Though if I may say something, you shouldn’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could have done that would have stopped him from killing himself. Some people simply have a low tolerance for stress.
Atton: Tolerance. You don’t feel guilty, at all? Not even now?
Dr. Shore: His loss is certainly regrettable. If I could have done anything to prevent it, I would have asked him to come speak with me himself. But if I may be so candid, the decision to end his life was his and his alone. No one forced his hand.
Atton: Nobody changes.
Dr. Shore: What was that?
Atton: Nothing.
Dr. Shore: Ah. In that case, perhaps now would be a good time for me to update you on news of your next cellmate. I had the warden show me his dossier, to make sure that we avoid more complications like this in the future. His name is Eli Desmond. And according to his psychological profile I believe he would be better adjusted for life inside Wyden Hall. The warden assures me that he won’t become a distraction for you.
Atton: When?
Dr. Shore: According to this file, Eli will be arriving within a few weeks. With any luck, you two will get along famously.
Atton: We’ll see.
Dr. Shore: Now, I would like to discuss your progress in our rehabilitation program thus far. Foregoing your recent decline in participation, you have shown ample promise to both me and my colleagues, so I am willing to give you a second chance. For reasons of emotional distress, I will overlook your currents missteps. But in turn, you must be willing to commit yourself again. Are you still interested?
Atton: I just want to get out of here.
Dr. Shore: And you will. With hard work on your part, I guarantee that you will. Now, this is the last time we will see each other until the start of the new year. I ask that in the winter break, you do what you can to prepare yourself for the next stage in our program. I won’t go into full details now, but if you have any questions I will be more than happy to oblige.
Atton: I don’t have any questions.
Dr. Shore: Perfect. Then if you don’t mind, I would prefer it if we kept this session short.
Atton: You have plans for Christmas?
Dr. Shore: I’m visiting relatives in Washington.
Atton: That sounds nice.
Dr. Shore: Chin up Atton. There’s no reason to feel low. You have a bright future ahead of you. Keep with the program, and eventually you will reach recovery.
Closing
Chapter Fourteen
Day Seven
Saturday
April 26, 2003
12:25 AM
Vanessa ran, and no matter how far she went it never occurred to her to stop. All signs of infected eventually faded away, but her legs didn’t allow her to slow. Not even for a second. She kept on going, panting, keeping her eyes straight forward, doing all that she could to avoid turning back.
The flashlight swayed at the bottom of her fist, bringing light to her every step. There was no telling what corners they were hiding behind, or where they could come from. Even if she couldn’t see them, the infected were everywhere. She darted past rows of streets and buildings, paying no attention to her surrounding neighborhood. Vanessa increased her pace, staring straight as she pelted her limbs forward. She didn’t want to bring her eyes on anything that would have caused her to look back. Her mind, her body, were riddled with panic. Even when her breaths turned into wheezes, her
instinct didn’t allow her to stop. Like a machine, her legs kept on leaping, and her arms kept on swinging.
It was a cold, frigid night. And yet nowhere near enough to hold back the sweat that was pouring down Vanessa’s skin. The palms of her hands were soaked with moisture, infecting everything she touched with sweat. On her left hand was her flashlight. And on her right the notebook she’d barely managed to escape with.
The sound of Grace’s screams ratcheted all around her, constantly calling her name.
Vanessa. Vanessa. Vanessa.
No matter how far Vanessa ran, she couldn’t escape the call. The feeling that Grace was still right behind her, calling her for help.
1:27 AM
Grace is dead. She’s been dead for an hour now. Just because I didn’t see her die doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen. That monster grabbed her. I heard her cry. He killed her the moment he laid his hands on her.
It wasn’t my fault. There was nothing I could have done to stop it. It was too dark. It was too hard to see. If I’d only known he was there before.
Grace, I am so sorry.
3:32 AM
Vanessa didn’t allow herself the luxury of sleep. She locked herself inside the public restroom of the O’Mallery Baseball Park, sitting with her back propped against the cold, metal door. She batted her eyelids to keep herself awake, but increasingly the effort grew more and more hopeless.
So much of her life was hopeless. So much out of her own control. What was the point of going on? Why fight when in the end there was nothing left to fight for?
Vanessa reopened her journal. She thought of writing something down when she turned the page and caught traces of handwriting that weren’t hers. The first sentence at the top read My name is Grace Minien. And with that Vanessa remembered that moment only yesterday when she asked Grace to write in her journal.
Fear of the Dead Page 17
