by Paul Seiple
"What the hell is he doing?" Q asked.
"He's trying to figure out if he can overpower me," Q said.
"Are you sure these things are that sophisticated? The old man at Walmart tried to take a bite out of everything that moved," Nick said.
"These aren't like him," Q said. “They’ve had time to adapt.”
The man turned away from Q and walked toward the group of infected. He was missing two fingers. He fell in place behind the two women in front.
"We can't sit here and wait for more to show up," Daria said.
Marshall stood up and walked around the dumpster. "I'll take care of them."
Emily grabbed Marshall's calf. "Get back here."
"What are you doing, Marshall?" Nick asked.
Marshall held up his arm. The sleeve of his shirt was shredded and soaked in blood.
"No," Emily said.
Marshall pulled the shirt away from his arm. His tricep was missing. "One of them got me in the alley."
"Don't do it, Marshall. I can use your blood to develop a cure," Q said.
"You can't find a cure if you're dead," Marshall said.
Emily came out of hiding and hugged Marshall. He wrapped his good arm around her.
"I love you," Marshall said.
Emily wrapped herself around him tighter.
Emily heard the words "Don't resist it."
What?" she asked.
"You better keep yourself alive," Marshall said, freeing himself from Emily. He walked toward the horde.
"Don't," Emily said.
Nick ran, grabbed Emily, and pulled her behind the sign.
"Damn, y’all are some ugly bastards. Especially you." Marshall punched the man who was missing fingers in the face. He fell. Marshall stomped the man's head, smashing it onto the pavement. The group of infected swarmed Marshall.
"Come on," Q grabbed Daria.
Nick had to pull Emily away. They ran a few blocks until they felt safe.
"Where are we going?" Daria asked.
A white news van with the number thirteen plastered on the side sped by them, clipping a few parked cars.
"Do you know them?" Q asked Emily.
She stood frozen with a blank stare and didn't answer. Nick shook her.
"Emily, do you know that news team?"
"I didn't see them," Emily said.
"It was Channel 13," Daria said.
"It's probably Mike and Cassie," Emily said.
"Will they give us a ride?" Q asked.
"Probably," Emily said.
"We have to stop them before they are dinner," Nick said.
The van came to screeching halt a block away from where the infected were feeding on Marshall. Six men in black fatigues rolled out of the back.
"Well, there goes that plan," Daria said.
"We need to get out of here, now," Q said.
"We are about to engage a feeding, sir?"
The man watched the frenzy through the windshield as he waited for orders from Mitchell Ashe.
"How many are they?" Ashe asked.
"Six, maybe seven."
"Save as many as you can," Ashe said.
"Yes, sir. You heard the man. This is a rescue mission."
The back of the van opened. Soldiers armed with five-foot metal poles with mesh-chained hoods dangling from the end piled out onto the street.
"Do not harm the infected unless your life is in danger. Are we clear?"
The soldiers chanted in unison, "Yes, Sergeant Andrews."
"Let's go save the world, boys."
The infected huddled over Marshall as the soldiers arrived. One soldier hovered his pole over a man's head before lowering the mesh net over him. The soldier pulled a rope, tightening the net, and jerked the infected man away from the gathering.
"One down."
"Ashe was right. They're hyper-focused when feeding," Sergeant Andrews said.
Two more infected were captured without incident. Felecia Randall tore her mouth away from Marshall to see a net cover another infected man's head. She stopped feeding, stood up, and faced Sergeant Andrews.
"Contain her now," Sergeant Andrews said.
A soldier contained Felicia as she lunged for Sergeant Andrews. Felicia jerked to free herself. The movement caused the lone free infected woman to stop feeding and face Sergeant Andrews, who made eye contact with her. The woman's hair was matted tight against her scalp. Fresh blood clung to the cracks of dried-up blood on her face. Even with a morbid disguise, Sergeant Andrews recognized her.
"Katie?" he asked.
A soldier moved in place to capture her. Sergeant Andrews waved him off.
"Oh no, Katie."
"Do you know this one, sir?"
"She's my daughter."
"I'm sorry, sir, but we can't let her go."
"What have they done to you, Katie?" Sergeant Andrews asked.
Katie tilted her head as if she understood her father, but she couldn't answer.
"Sir."
Sergeant Andrews unclipped his revolver from its holster. He aimed the gun at Katie's forehead and pulled trigger.
"We couldn't save this one. Get the rest of them into the van," Sergeant Andrews said.
Twenty-Five
Two Weeks Later
"How are you feeling?" Q asked, handing Emily a cup of coffee.
"Better. This place is beautiful."
"My grandmother left it to me. She knew how much I loved nature growing up. I spent so many hours reading by the pond."
"A nerd, huh?"
"I prefer the word ‘geek,’" Q said.
Emily laughed, sipped the coffee, and watched two birds fly from one pile of leaves to another in what looked to be a game of tag.
"Being out here makes it hard to believe the world is turning to shit," Emily said.
"Now, that should be the tourism tagline for rural Vermont," Q said. He sat down on the porch, resting his legs on the steps. "They are thrashers."
"What?"
"The birds. It's said the name comes from the sound the bird makes when it's smashing up its prey," Q said.
"So, are we going to start calling the infected thrashers now?"
Q laughed.
“Were you able to find that ARMA website again?” Emily asked.
“Nick and Daria are still trying. It looks like someone took it offline.”
"How long do you think it will take them to find us here?" Emily asked.
"If technology stands, probably not long. But, at least we have a few days of rest."
Emily sipped the coffee. "A few days may be all I have. I could die happy here."
"Don't say that. We've made it this far."
"I think I'm sick, Q."
Q stood up and moved beside Emily. "I wouldn't be surprised if we all didn't have a touch of something."
"I think the infected communicate telepathically," Emily said.
The front door opened. Daria stepped out onto the porch.
"Well, they've convinced the news that the drug problem in Charlotte is under control." Daria rolled her eyes. "Can you believe that shit?"
Neither Emily nor Q said a word.
"What's wrong? Did someone die?" Daria asked.
"Someone's dying," Emily said.
"You don't know that," Q said.
"OK, what the hell is going on?" Daria asked.
The door swung open again.
"Holy shit. I did it. I hacked into one of ARMA's bank accounts," Nick said. "I emptied it."
"Great. Now we can all buy matching Porsches for the end-of-the-world parade," Daria said.
"You don't get it. Criminals don't work for free. Ashe needs that money if he plans to move forward," Nick said.
"At the very least, it will slow him up," Q said.
"I don't think you guys are appreciating my accomplishment. I hacked into one of the most secret organizations on the planet and stole millions of dollars."
"Good job," Emily said.
"OK, what gi
ves?" Nick asked.
"I think I have the virus," Emily said. "I didn't think anything of it at the time, but that night when we were attacked, I heard Marshall say, 'Don't resist it,' before he sacrificed himself."
"That means nothing. You weren't thinking clearly at the time," Nick said.
"No. It was clear. The thing was, Marshall didn't say it. I don't know how to explain it, but it's like he thought it, and I heard it. I know that sounds crazy."
"What makes you think you're infected?" Q asked.
Emily leaned into Q. "Look at my eyes?"
A thin film covered Emily' left pupil. Her breath held a faint hint of rotting meat masked by coffee.
Q backed away. "Are you feeling any violent tendencies?"
"If you're asking if I want to eat you, not yet."
Everyone sat silent for a minute or two.
Emily broke the silence. "I want you to use my blood. Use it to find a cure."
"I will, and you'll be the first person we save," Q said.
"No. There's a catch. I'll give you my blood, but you have to promise to kill me."
"I can’t."
"You have to, Q. I've seen what it's like to be infected. I don't want that."
"This is too much," Daria said.
"We have to make sure you're infected before we do anything," Q said.
"I saw the look on your face when you backed away from me. We both know I have the virus," Emily said. "Look, it sucks, believe me, I know it. I'm thankful to be here where it's peaceful and with people I care about. People I know will do the right thing and not let me suffer."
"I think we should step back and think about this," Nick said.
"There is no time. We don't know how this virus operates. I could turn at any minute," Emily said.
"I have some secobarbital. I can give you enough to make you go to sleep," Q said.
"And die. She will die," Daria said.
"I'm already dead," Emily said.
"I'll go get my bag," Q said.
"Are we really going to do this?" Nick asked.
"There's no other way," Emily said.
Emily squirmed in the old recliner. She couldn't get comfortable. Thoughts aren't easy to corral when the mind is shooting in different directions. What happens when I die? Will I see Marshall? The answers to Emily's questions were unknown. The only thing she didn't question was her diagnosis. Emily had Judas. There was no coming back from that. Her vision worsened, but the thought of consuming human flesh still made her retch. Then again, that was a symptom of the virus.
"I'm going to get a few samples of your blood," Q said.
"Take all you want. I'm not going to need it anymore," Emily said. Nervous laughter followed her words. "Is it going to hurt?"
"Well, it's a needle," Q said.
"No, I mean death. The pills."
"You'll go to sleep. It will be peaceful."
"That won't stop me from coming back."
"Once you're gone, I'll make sure you don't come back," Q said.
Emily winced when the needle pricked her skin. She watched it fill with her blood. The crimson liquid looked no different than it did on the countless times she donated blood. The virus hid like a predator waiting to pounce. Emily's blood was a weapon. The most dangerous weapon to ever exist.
"All right. I think I have enough blood," Q said. "How do you feel?"
"My head is pounding," Emily said.
Q jotted something in his Field Notes.
"My vision is worse. There's a ringing in my ears now."
"Did the ringing just start?" Q asked.
"Yeah, while you were taking blood."
Q wrote again in the notebook.
"The nausea comes and goes. My throat is burning. My fingers and toes are numb."
Q reached for Emily's big toe. He gave it squeeze. "Can you feel that?"
Emily shook her head.
"I know you don't feel like doing this," Q said.
"No, it's OK. You need to know what this virus does to people. I feel like I'm losing my senses."
"Tell me about the telepathy again," Q said.
"I'm not really sure how it works. Marshall told me to survive. I heard that. I watched his mouth move. I also heard him tell me not to resist it. His mouth didn't move, but it was Marshall's voice."
"But you think the infected use telepathy to communicate?" Q asked.
"You saw them. They were organized. It goes against every rule in zombie movies. I can't believe I just said that." Emily laughed, and it turned into a coughing spill.
"The coughing is new," Q said.
"Yeah, I guess it is."
A chill dug into Q's spine. That's how it spreads, he thought. Like H1N1. Q wrote in the journal.
"Did you get the H1N1 flu in 2009?"
"I don't know. That's almost ten years ago. I don't think so, though," Emily said.
Q wrote H1N1? Immunity? in the Field Notes.
"Are you craving human flesh?" Q asked.
"No, and I never want to. Can you give me the pills before that happens?"
"Yeah. Are you ready now?"
Emily nodded.
Q placed orange pills into Emily's palm. He sat a glass of water on the nightstand by the bed.
"Take them when you're ready," Q said.
"And I won't feel anything?" Emily asked.
"You'll just drift off."
Emily squeezed Q's hand and tossed the pills into her mouth. She thought about Marshall as the water washed the pills down. She thought about the last trip they took to Bar Harbor, Maine. It was such a peaceful place. She closed her eyes and imagined Heaven being a lot like Bar Harbor.
Daria and Nick stared at the television, neither of them paying attention to the reporter explaining the effects of using synthetic cathinones as recreational drugs.
"Do you think it's over?" Daria asked.
"I hope so," Nick said.
"I feel guilty. We should have been in there with her," Daria said.
"Q was right. The room is small. It would be much easier for us to contract the virus."
"Don't you think we would have it already?" Daria asked.
"Maybe we do," Nick said.
"Maybe we don't and never will," Q said, entering the room.
"Huh?" Daria asked.
"Did you come down with H1N1 flu during the 2009 outbreak?" Q asked.
"Fuck. Do not remind me. I spent two weeks in the hospital," Daria said. "I was so young. I still remember my mother telling me I wouldn't remember it."
"And your sister?" Q asked.
"Nope. They kept her away from me so she wouldn't get it."
"And you?" Q pointed to Nick.
"Worst ten days of my life. I was trapped with James."
Q smiled. "Carolyn and I had it too."
"Why are you smiling?" Daria asked.
"Carolyn introduced a strain of 2009 H1N1 into Judas. I think anyone who got that strain in 2009 is immune to Judas," Q said.
"Does that mean I can I see Emily?" Daria asked.
"She's gone," Q said. “You don’t want to see her.”
“What did you do?” Daria asked.
“What I had to do to make sure she didn’t come back,” Q said.
“We have to bury her,” Nick said.
“I’ll do it,” Q said. “I want you to remember Emily as she was, not as she is now.” He stopped before stepping onto the porch. He faced Daria. "We need to try to find a way to get you back to your parents."
"I can't go home," Daria.
"Why?" Q asked.
"They didn't get the flu."
Twenty-Six
Hutchinson, Kansas
Thanksgiving
"Taylor, stop chasing your sister around the living room."
"But, Mom, she called me creepy."
"Chasing girls around furniture is creepy. Why isn't your dad watching you?"
"Football. Close game," Barrett Reid said.
"Gotcha, caveman."
&nb
sp; Grace Reid turned her attention back to the cornbread while her mother, Alice, tended to the pot of green beans on the stove.
Thanksgiving dinner at her parents’ house had been the tradition for as long as Amanda Grace could remember. Her father, Willard, used to deep fry a turkey, but since turning seventy-nine, he opted to pick up one from the local diner. It wasn't deep fried, but just as tasty, and healthier. Plus, it gave him more time to enjoy the game.
"Wide right. Can you believe that?" Willard said.
"You never draft a field goal kicker in the first round," Barrett said. "What were they thinking?"
"Looks like they were thinking about next year's draft. They'll never get to the playoffs with a kicker who misses extra points. I could make that. My hip may break, but I'd make the damn kick," Willard said.
"Mom, Grandpa said damn," Taylor said, running a circle around the table.
"Dad, stop cussing," Grace said.
"Damn is not a cuss word," Willard said.
Alice put the beans on the dining table. "He's stubborn. Don't waste your time arguing with him." She placed her frail hand on Grace's upper arm and gave a gentle squeeze. "I'm so glad you were able to come a week earlier this year."
"Me too. Barrett cut his business trip short. With all the bad press around the bank, he decided to get out of there and let the smoke clear. You know something else will dominate the news soon enough."
"Well, I'm just glad you’re here." Alice coughed.
"Are you feeling any better? I could have taken care of all this," Grace said.
"Nonsense. It's just a cold. Now, if your father had it, he would be on his deathbed."
"How's his hip?" Grace said, placing a bowl of mashed potatoes on the table.
"It's about the same."
"Maybe he'll get it checked out after the holidays," Grace said.
"Like I said, he's stubborn, dear." Alice put a plate of cranberry sauce next to the potatoes. "Dinner's ready."
The kids wasted no time getting to their seats. Barrett followed behind Willard, who seemed to be having more hip pain than usual.
"Sorry, it's stiffens up when I sit too long," Willard said.
"No worries as long as there's some turkey left by the time we get there," Barrett said
