The Infected: (Book 1)

by Smith, Justin

  "Holy hell that's fucking crazy!" Anne yelled. "What if that shit doesn't work? Who the hell does she think she's kidding, effective? Do you think it could spread down here?" Anne placed her hands on the bar to steady herself, as if the thought was too much for her.

  I took a sip from my beer, allowing myself a moment to process the reporter's comments.

  "No, we should be fine," I said. "There's a lot of farms between here and D.C. That should stop the spread, if it's only human-to-human at this point."

  As I finished speaking, the door behind me swung open and Sarah walked through. I caught the bartender eyeing her up.

  "OK, enough with this stuff," I said. "How about another pitcher?!"

  Sarah rushed to the bar and greeted each of us with a hug. She was wearing a yellow sun dress and sandals, and her dark hair flowed gracefully over her shoulders. She looked almost exotic and I could barely take my eyes off of her; I consciously had to stop myself from staring. She and Anne walked back to the pool table to set her stuff down while Rob and I grabbed another pitcher and more shots. Two hours later Sarah was good and caught up and the pool table had long been replaced by conversation. As we contemplated closing our tab and calling it a night, Sarah gently took my hand.

  "Can I have a ride home? I really don't think I should be driving."

  I was beyond eager to get her alone, but I couldn't read her smile. Maybe she legitimately liked me. Maybe she was flirting to get what she wanted, which women as attractive as her are apt to do.

  Rob laughed out loud. "And you trust him to drive? Brave girl!"

  In my best effort to appear sober and responsible and not too excited, I said "No worries. You're on my way."

  "Thank you baby!" shouted Sarah, pulling my head in for a kiss on the cheek. Damn, she smelled good.

  ***

  Saturday, 1:25 a.m.

  Somehow in the fifteen minute drive from the bar to Sarah's house, she managed to fall asleep. I was tempted to do another lap just so I could admire her, but I quickly dismissed the thought as overly creepy. As I slowed the car to a stop in her driveway, I gave her a nudge on the shoulder to wake her. She rubbed her hand up her thigh as she opened her eyes, gazing at me with adorable sleep still in her eyes. She pushed a few strands of hair from her face.

  "Thanks, Jason. I had a good time tonight, I'm glad you asked me out."

  I began to respond, but Sarah leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine. No tongue. Just a short peck on the lips. But it was enough to get my blood rushing. Pulling back and offering a coy smile, Sarah reached for the door handle and let herself out of the car. I watched her enter her home through the garage door, then backed out of the driveway, careful not to hit the mailbox.

  I headed home with the windows down and the nearly-full moon lighting my way. I was so energized from the kiss, I didn't want to go home. I just wanted to drive around, blasting cheesy love songs and singing every word. But after four hours of beer and shots, home it was.

  ***

  Saturday, 1:40 a.m.

  Once again, can't pay her any attention. Just open the door and let her do her thing. I grabbed a beer from my stocked refrigerator, followed Holly back outside and lit a cigarette. On my deck at night, bright moon overhead, not a house or car or person in sight, might be the most relaxing place on the planet. I thought about my parents, alone in Pennsylvania. I thought about the approaching end of the school year and the summer off with pay. I definitely thought about that kiss from Sarah. Then my thoughts turned to the attacks on Friday afternoon. As a social studies teacher, much like 9/11, this could be something I talked about for the rest of my career. Hell, it's virtually impossible to talk about politics in America today without there being some reference to 9/11. With that thought, I called for Holly and walked back inside to watch the news.

  Live footage from New York City showed armed troops and barricades being overrun by a bloody, raging mass of people. Commentators, broadcasting from Los Angeles because the stations in New York had gone off the air, discussed the spread of the infection and how likely it was that the government would be able to contain it. None of the interviewees seemed overly optimistic about the outcome. I drifted to sleep, in disbelief that the news now resembled some Hollywood zombie movie.

  CHAPTER 3

  Saturday, 8:15 a.m.

  The TV was still on when I woke up on Saturday morning. The quarantines had been broken in each of the four cities and new perimeters had been established further out. The commentators were speculating on whether the President should force an evacuation and just bomb the cities. Seriously, is it really worth killing all those innocent civilians? But nothing else seemed to be stopping the spread of whatever this is.

  Walking to the refrigerator I stretched my neck and twisted my torso to relieve some of the tension of sleeping on the couch. I pulled out a couple eggs and a frying pan and got to work making breakfast. While the pan heated up, I checked my phone; three texts from Rob asking if I got laid. I didn't even bother responding to that, but I did send Rob a text asking what the plans were for the weekend. I let Holly out the back door and poured food into her bowl on the kitchen floor.

  After breakfast, I stepped outside for a cigarette and called my parents. I had to hold the phone just right to find the contact; the sun's glare was blinding. It was barely 9 a.m. and already I felt sweat drip down my back. I love Maryland summers.

  After the standard introductions, I asked "What are you guys hearing about the bombings?"

  "Probably the same as you, I'm sure. Your father's worried, I guess we're sort of right between New York and Philly."

  "Yeah, but you're pretty far out there. I'm sure this won't make it past the city limits. This virus, or whatever it is, sounds like it has to be transmitted person-to-person. There's too much open space between you guys and the cities. You'll be fine."

  "I hope so," my mom said, though I could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

  We said goodbye and I hoped this coming week would go by quickly. Maybe they'll even cancel classes, given the circumstances, in which case I'd head to PA the moment I heard. I felt bad that I wasn't there to support my parents more often, but I have a good job in a great area. I'd have to go back to waiting tables if I moved home; there're certainly no teaching jobs in PA. That's why I moved to Maryland in the first place. If only I could take my school and drop it in the Poconos near my parents. Until then, I was stuck making the 6-hour drive every other month. And my mom was stuck taking care of my father.

  I opened the door and grabbed the leash hanging on the coat rack. I can't sit around here all day and feel bad for myself and my parents. I called Holly to follow but didn't bother to clip the leash onto her collar. I started a leisurely jog down my quarter mile driveway, kicking up loose dirt with each step. At the end of the driveway, I could see the Patuxent River about a mile upstream from where it meets the Chesapeake Bay. Half a mile wide and brackish, the water filled the air with a hint of salt. At the end of the driveway, I turned right down another dirt road. About a mile later, I made another right, Holly glued to my side, and from here I could see Matt's house. A two-story home, made to look like an old farmhouse. Matt, another teacher at my high school, built it himself just a few years ago and wasn't shy about reminding people of that. Just behind the house was a short path through the woods that led to an inlet, where Matt had a couple 20-foot fishing boats sitting in the water and usually four or five crab traps tied to the dock. As I got closer, I heard the hum of a circular saw coming from the garage. At the edge of the driveway, Holly took off ahead of me and darted straight for Matt.

  "What're you making now, man?" I asked, as Matt stood to greet Holly.

  "Melissa's going nuts about this thing in D.C.," Matt said, referring to his wife. Nodding toward a stack of plywood, he said "Just in case we have to board up the windows. You're welcome to come here if things get crazy."

  "Thanks, man, but I don't think we'll have to worry about it. Besides, if
that shit gets out of the city, we're beyond boarding up windows. We're like apocalypse screwed."

  Matt stood from the circular saw, removed his work gloves and took out his phone. He turned it around and showed me the image on his screen. "My sister sent me this this morning. She's in Media, just south-west of Philly. Her house is on a hill overlooking 95." The picture, through trees, showed cars jammed on a highway, with doors open and people in the street. Some appeared to be running, others appeared to be fighting. Some were sprawled out on the pavement. No blood was visible but I knew it was there.

  "Damn. What's she gonna do?," I asked apprehensively, not sure what to say.

  "I don't know. Obviously they're not taking the highway. My parents are about 40 minutes west of her in West Chester. She was gonna try to make it there, but I don't see her getting far. I kinda hope she decides to board up and wait it out." Matt's voice croaked as he finished talking, conveying the danger his sister was in. "She said my dad got bit by some guy. I guess he was near the hospital for work yesterday and got mugged or something. My mom says he's fine, but I don't know. This is serious, man. We're talking millions of people dead since yesterday. They're not saying it on the news because they don't want to create a panic or riot or anything. I don't know what's worse, people getting killed trying to escape, or having to sit in their homes and wait for it to come to them."

  "I'm sorry, man," was all I could manage, shifting my weight uncomfortably, wondering how Matt's father could be bit and still be alive. Must've just been a crack head or something.

  "Melissa thinks this infection, or whatever you wanna call it, is some sort of terrorist attack, like from Iran or something. You heard anything about that?" Matt asked.

  "No, I mean that occurred to me, but I haven't heard anyone on the news say it. And I haven't seen anyone taking credit. Last time didn't bin Laden release a video pretty soon after it happened?"

  "I don't know. It would make sense. I guarantee there's already more dead than there were on 9/11," Matt said, over the grinding noise of the circular saw. He tossed another piece of window-sized plywood on the pile then bent to count them; eight so far total. "One more," he said out-loud.

  I was thinking about my parents, probably scared out their minds. Matt was usually a laid-back guy and I had thought coming down here would take my mind off the attacks. My visit had only exacerbated my fears.

  "I should go call my folks, maybe drive up there and stay with them. You don't think we'll have school this week, do ya?"

  Matt lifted his goggles and looked me dead in the eyes. "Don't even think about going up there. You'll never make it past D.C. They're just gonna keep moving back the quarantine and the beltway is probably a dead stop. It's a death trap."

  "What if I take 301 and just go around D.C. to the west? Might add a few hours, but…" I trailed off before Matt interrupted.

  "Still takes you too close to the city, man, and every other person in Prince George County probably has the same idea. You'll just get stuck."

  As if on cue, Melissa popped open the door to the house. Wearing a white apron, blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail, she looked like one of the Stepford Wives. "Oh hey, Jase! Matt you need to hurry up. Just saw on the news the perimeter broke again. They're ripping people out of their cars on 495. You need to board this place up fast!"

  "Don't worry, honey, there's still a lot of ground between here and 495. That's like 50 miles. Even if those things ran here, it'd take them like 10 hours. We've got time." The words were confident but I heard the uncertainty in his voice. The timeline was probably correct, assuming they made a beeline for St. Mary's County. The thought that their arrival was imminent was the real concern.

  CHAPTER 4

  Saturday, 11:15 a.m.

  By the time Holly and I had jogged back home, Rob had replied to my text message. He was meeting Anne for lunch at noon and suggested that I join them. I agreed. After a quick shower, I decided to check my windows, just in case. I didn't have any wood to board them up, but they should be alright. The first year I lived in Maryland a tornado had torn through the farm and blown out most of my cheap, mobile home windows. I had split the cost with my landlord and installed hurricane-proof glass. These suckers were sturdy. I went around and banged on each one, hard enough to instill confidence but not so hard I thought I might break them. I figured I was far enough from civilization that I didn't have to worry, although Matt's preparation had me a little scared. I never did call my parents.

  I pulled up to the Iron Duck Grill and Brewery just past noon. Rob's truck and Anne's jeep were already in the parking lot. There were only three other cars aside from theirs. I attributed those to staff. My assumption was confirmed when I walked in and Rob and Anne, seated at the bar, were the only two patrons in the place. I slapped Rob on the back, gave Anne a friendly kiss on the cheek, and took a seat next to her, with Rob on the far side.

  Two waitresses sat anxiously in a corner booth. A chubby brunette with circus-style make-up played with the straw in her soda, bobbing it up and down. Her petite co-worker, who barely looked old enough to serve booze, was absorbed in her phone, thumbs typing out a message to someone at a rapid fire pace. The bartender, who I also knew to be the owner, stood at the other end of the bar staring at the news on the TV. Noticing me, he walked over to take my order, barely able to turn away from the television.

  "You guys talk to your parents?" I asked, knowing they're in the same situation I was, with family far away. Rob's parents lived in upstate New York and Anne's father was in Allentown, Pennsylvania, just south of the Poconos. Rob didn't talk much about his parents, but visited them every summer. Anne's mother left when she was in kindergarten, but she's still very close to her father. He came to Maryland at least once a month to see her. I've met him a couple times; really cool guy. He'd spend all day fishing or kayaking with the guys, then turn around and do a few shots with us at night. He's the reason Anne's so down to earth.

  "Yeah, this morning," Anne said, taking a sip of her beer. "He's driving out to his brother's place near Pittsburgh. I thought about heading out there, but there's no way I'm getting around D.C. He told me to hunker down, worst case maybe pack some stuff up and camp out on an island in the river."

  "My parents are staying put. They figure they're far enough from the city and the coast that it won't get to them. What about yours?" Rob asked.

  "That's not a bad idea, Anne," I said. "They can't go anywhere with my dad. Their cabin's pretty isolated, though, so they should be fine." Even as I said it, I didn't believe it. My dad couldn't help secure the house, and my mother had to be scared out of her mind.

  As we shared news reports and speculation, only one other person entered the restaurant, grabbing a to-go order. When the cook put their burgers in the kitchen window, the bartender brought them over, once again keeping his eyes on the screen. He grabbed another beer for Rob then resumed his position.

  Halfway through our lunch, the sound of sirens filled the restaurant. Everyone inside simultaneously turned toward the windows, as the bartender rushed out from behind the bar and ran to look out the front door. Speeding north up Route 5, which was the only major roadway in the county, were four police sedans and two fire trucks, all with lights flashing. Not even a minute later they were followed by four more cop cars and two ambulances. The bartender made his way back to the bar area, printed out a check and dropped it on the bar in front of us. "I'm sorry, guys, but I think we've gotta close. That's not a good sign."

  As Anne and I started counting cash, Rob was searching through his phone. He stopped and without a word laid his phone on the bar, screen up, so that Anne and I could read it. The first headline on the BayNews app read "Breaking: National Guard barricade overrun again; counties surrounding D.C. urged to establish blockades."

  Anne covered her mouth in shock.

  "How are the local cops gonna do any better than the National Guard?" I asked.

  Rob threw down the rest of the cash for the bil
l.

  "They're not," he said. "And if that shit gets down here, we're on our own. I don't know about you guys, but I think we need to pick a place to bunker down and hope they come up with a cure or a solution or something."

  Emerging from the restaurant onto Route 5, it seemed everyone in the county had read the news. And everyone in the county had the same bad idea. Traffic was rushing north, toward D.C. Not a single car was headed south. South was useless unless you had a boat, but north wasn't going to be much better. It wouldn't be long before all those cars were jammed up, serving as a damn buffet to whatever sickness seemed to be spreading through the East Coast.

  ***

  Saturday, 12:45 p.m.

  As I drove home I noticed all the little shops were closed. Parking lots were empty. The bait and tackle shop, which seemed to always be open, lacked the neon light in the window. About half of the homes I passed were boarded up, while the rest stood silent. I saw a couple families packing their belongings into their Subaru station wagons or Ford Explorers.