by Jay Brenham
“Fair enough, I’ll take some pictures for you.”
“That will have to do.” He gave Sam a friendly wave. “Talk to you later. I have a golf game that needs playing.”
Sam put his equipment back in the garage and headed inside the house. He turned the hot water on so high that steam was already filling the small bathroom as he stepped into the shower. Out of habit, he sprayed shaving cream into his hand and rubbed it onto his face. As he pressed the razor blade to his skin, Sam paused. He wasn’t in the Navy anymore; he could skip the shave if he wanted to. He set the razor blade down with a smile. Today he would start growing a beard, for the first time in five years.
By the time Sam finished showering and eating it was almost one in the afternoon. He’d left the TV on before he got in the shower with hopes of hearing the news, but the sound of the shower had drowned out the TV. Now the screen was filled with images of what appeared to be protests or riots.
Probably some stupid political thing. Sam turned on his streaming service instead. If it was important he’d see it later in the night or tomorrow; the twenty-four hour news cycle would never let him miss something important.
#
Khalid could already see his target. There’d been advertisements for days: a live radio broadcast from the oceanfront. Now the crowd swelled in front of the stage beneath a large sign that read “Rock on, Oceanfront.”
It was 11:53 a.m. Seven minutes to go. The timing needed to be exact. His instructions were clear.
The male DJ had left and now a woman named Shelley was on stage. A few people stood next to her, holding various instruments like they were about to play some live music. His timing would be perfect.
The hotel next to the stage had a patio with fire pits and large tables. Each one was filled with people. Khalid crossed the patio and entered the hotel lobby, walking straight to the bathroom on his right. The music from outside and the sound of people cheering was loud enough that he could hear the rumble from inside the bathroom.
Khalid began to sweat. His time was waning. He wasn’t afraid to die, or of what the afterlife would bring; he knew with certainty what awaited him. The nervousness inside Khalid was what anyone feels before a large life event. He gulped water from the faucet.
Another glance at his watch. 11:58 a.m. There were others like him all across the United States. He didn’t know how many or where, just that together they would cripple the West.
When Khalid first learned his target would be in Virginia, he’d protested. Why couldn’t it be Chicago, Los Angeles, or Washington, D.C.? How could a city he’d never even heard of be important in the fight against America? His handlers were prepared for his objections and explained that he was being given an honor: this area was home to the United States Navy. If this city was crippled, the American military would be crippled, the way a severed spine makes the rest of the body immobile. Entire carrier strike groups would be relegated to the sides of the dock. No longer would America have the power to launch air strikes in any country they desired. Without their interference, the Caliphate could be restored.
11:59 a.m. Khalid stepped into the handicap stall and locked the door. This was it. The culmination of his life. Other men talked of the virgins waiting for them in Paradise, but Khalid only wanted to be reunited with Nadiya.
He lifted his shirt and glanced down at the belt. It wasn’t laced with explosives or ball bearings. From the outside it looked like something you’d find in a department store. Many lives had been given to the cause but none like this. Not yet.
Withdrawing a small pocket knife, Khalid separated the seam along the upper edge of the belt. Between the two pieces of leather lay a miniature syringe, pale and unassuming except for the green fluid inside.
The handlers explained he had nothing to fear. The compound inside the syringe would make him slowly drift into death. It would be like falling asleep. He wouldn’t feel the virus destroying his body, but the American people would suffer.
Khalid’s watch switched to 12:00 p.m.
It was time.
The cap of the syringe came off easily and he glanced down at his forearm to select a vein.
“Allahu Akbar,” Khalid whispered so only he could hear. He pushed the syringe into his forearm, depressing the plunger and releasing the virus into his blood stream.
Khalid carefully wrapped the syringe in toilet paper and tossed it into the garbage. The injection site felt warm as he walked outside into the summer sun. The warmth spread up his arm and into his shoulder, turning so hot it felt like he was on fire. Surely something had to be wrong. He’d been promised a painless sleep. The crowd in front of the stage was larger; people drifted toward the sound of the wailing guitars echoing across the waterfront. Khalid pushed his way into the crowd, following his orders despite his agony.
The fire spread to his chest. When it hit his heart he could feel the flames of the infection radiate outward until all of his extremities were burning. Mucus started to drip from his nose and a cough built in his lungs. He brought his hand to his mouth automatically, stumbling at the same time. He put a hand out to steady himself. It was covered in blood.
The people around him were oblivious, transfixed by the music on stage. Blood and mucus pooled in Khalid’s hands as he tried to cover up his condition, but he could not control his coughing or the flood coming from his nose. The front row was bouncing up and down to the beat of the music as Khalid pushed through. Shelley, the female DJ, was directly in front of him, throwing her hands in the air along with the rhythmic beat.
The fire had spread everywhere. He was losing control over his movements. He didn’t even know why he was moving toward her. Khalid stumbled into the table in front of the DJ, coughing up a mixture of bodily fluids as he went down.
The DJ was singing along with the crowd when the blood hit her open mouth. If she had a plan for this sort of thing she wouldn’t be implementing it. Shelley was the first person infected with Rhabdo-786, a biological weapon derived from the rabies virus.
People ran to help as Khalid collapsed onto the table but it was too late: the fire had fully consumed him, turning any semblance of humanity to ash. In its place was the twisted mind of an already twisted human being. Khalid grabbed, bit, and tore at the people trying to help him and with each bite and scratch another person was infected. The good Samaritans would soon feel the fire of infection course through them, destroying the humanity within.
CHAPTER TWO
The boom startled Sam out of sleep. He was no weapons expert but, sleepy or not, he still recognized the sound of a shotgun discharging.
His phone said it was 1:30 a.m. He was on the couch, having fallen asleep watching a movie. He moved towards the window and peered outside. It was either a full moon or close to it, because the night was bright.
Across the street, Jack was silhouetted in the doorway holding a gun. The dark outline of another person moved quickly up the walkway toward Jack’s front door. Sam lunged for his phone, dialing 911 even as he stepped outside. The muzzle flashed from the door and the shotgun boomed again. The person in front of Jack dropped to the ground.
Sam jumped off the edge of his front porch and started across the lawn. He heard the sound of a third shell being chambered as Jack pivoted in the doorway, aiming in Sam’s direction.
“Jack!” Sam yelled, holding his hands in the air.
Jack lowered the barrel slowly. “Sam, I’d be careful coming outside. I don’t know if there’s anyone else out here.” His voice was low and his eyes went to the darkness behind Sam, as if he expected someone else to be listening. Sam glanced over his shoulder reflexively. No one was there. There were two bodies on the ground though: one on Jack’s front porch and the other on the walkway. Neither was moving.
“I called the cops right after I heard the first gunshot,” Sam said, glancing down at his phone. The call hadn’t connected.
“I tried the police before I came out here, but I couldn’t get through,” Jack sa
id.
“What happened?”
“I didn’t want to shoot them. I heard someone scratching outside my front door and speaking nonsense. I thought she was a crazy homeless person. I even tried yelling at her from the side window to get her to leave, but she screamed at me and lunged through the open window. That’s when I shot her.” Jack sighed and ran a hand through his thin hair. “I walked outside to see if I had really shot a woman. Then that second guy charged me. All I could think of was what if he got past me and hurt Theresa?”
“I know, Jack, I saw that happen,” Sam said. He was unfamiliar with the sight of dead bodies and glanced uneasily at them. “Let’s go inside?”
The inside of their house was dark and Theresa stood in the doorway to their bedroom, clutching her robe tight around her.
“You shouldn’t have come out of your house, Sam. It’s too dangerous,” Jack said.
“Too dangerous?” Sam laughed. “Our neighborhood isn’t the best, but I think I can walk outside. I heard a gunshot and I saw a man charging you. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Jack shook his head. “Don’t you know what’s going on out there?” When Sam didn’t answer, he shook his head again. “I didn’t see any lights on in your house. I figured you’d taken off or were laying low.”
“Two people just tried to break into your house, Jack, that’s what’s going on. Who cares what’s happening anywhere else?”
“Look, son, I think you might have missed something. For God’s sake, all hell has broken loose. There are goddamn riots all over the country. There was a riot in Virginia Beach this afternoon. The news said it was spreading. People are acting like they’ve lost their minds: attacking each other, biting each other. The tunnels and bridges were closed a few hours ago.”
Sam was speechless. Norfolk was nearly surrounded by water. The tunnels and bridges were the only way out and they were only ever closed for hurricanes.
“What about the cops?” he asked finally. “I know you were defending yourself but you did just shoot two people, Jack. We need to call the police.”
“Did you hear anything I just said? We can’t get through to the cops. They’re probably overwhelmed right now. I think the best thing to do is to stay in our houses and keep to ourselves. If there were two people out there, there are others. We don’t want to attract any unwanted attention.”
A nagging voice in Sam’s head said they still needed to talk to the police. Isn’t that what you did when something went wrong? They were the professionals. They always took care of it.
Jack’s face was calm but serious, not at all like his normal joking mood. Sam wondered if he looked like Jack, or if his nervousness was apparent. He suspected it was.
“So what’re you planning on doing?” Sam asked.
“I told you: I’m going to sit right here in my house and hope nobody else comes by. In the meantime, Theresa is gonna keep trying to get a hold of the police, and I’m going to fill up the bath tub with water.”
“It’s a riot, not a hurricane,” Sam said, only half-joking.
Jack shrugged. “If the police are overwhelmed, other things might start to fail too.” He paused, then added, “I would have your gun loaded and ready. You don’t know what could happen.”
“I would…if I had one,” Sam said sheepishly.
In a lot of marriages, it was the woman who protested having the gun, but in Sam’s case he was the one who had opposed it when Jill suggested they get one for home defense. It wasn’t that he disliked guns, but they were expensive and a junior enlisted man doesn’t have a large budget to work with. They lived in the city, after all; there was nowhere to use it. It’s not like they could ride their truck out to their farm and shoot at old bottles. He told Jill they should invest the money instead.
He swallowed, regretting the decision now. At least Jill and Grant weren’t here to pay for his mistake.
Jack gave him a scathing look. “I thought you, of all people, would be armed. Like you said, we don’t live in the best neighborhood. What would Jill have done when you were on deployment if someone had broken in?”
Sam looked away. “I get it, Jack. I fucked up. But I don’t think now is the time for a second amendment speech. Money was tight. You know what it’s like being a junior guy in the military.”
“Yeah. I guess. I wish I could help you out but I gave my daughter the twenty gauge when she moved. Just make it look like nobody is home over there. If you need help, I’ll do what I can.”
“Alright, keep in touch. I’ll call you if the phones decide to work again.”
This time, Sam looked all around before moving out of the shadows. Seeing no one, he jogged to his house to prepare for the unknown.
#
It was almost 4:30 a.m. when Sam finally found what he’d been looking for. It was difficult searching for something in the dark and, since he was trying to make it look like he wasn’t home, he didn’t want to turn on the light. Luckily, some moonlight shone in through the windows, illuminating the two Motorola walkie talkies. The original packaging said they were good for up to 35 miles, but Sam knew that sort of range was only under ideal conditions. Still, they shouldn’t have a problem reaching across the street to Jack’s house.
The past couple of hours had been a flurry of activity, fueled by a surge of adrenaline. The garage door had screeched loudly when he opened it and Sam felt like he’d alerted the entire world to his presence. After a few minutes of wondering what he should do, he’d given in and filled both of his bathtubs and two large plastic storage containers with water. There was also a smaller eight-gallon container that he’d purchased before the hurricane a few years ago, which he brought inside the house. He may not have a gun, but there was enough water to last him a while and he had enough pasta and canned goods to survive for a couple of weeks. Not for the first time, Sam thought how fortunate he was that his stove ran on natural gas; even if the power failed he’d be able to cook. The power had been knocked out several times by storms in the past and he and Jill had always faired well.
Since the shooting, Sam kept a wary eye on the street but he’d seen no one. He’d alternated between trying to call the police to report the shooting and trying to call Jill, but there was no service. The Internet wasn’t working either, even though the electricity was still on. He’d tried to turn the TV on twice but all he could get was static and he didn’t want to risk trying again because the flickering light could be seen from the street.
The whole thing made Sam feel jumpy and isolated. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been this cut off from the outside world and the two people he loved most. Even deployment hadn’t been a total technology blackout.
They’re safe, Sam told himself for probably the thousandth time.
They had to be safer at Jill’s parents’ house than they would be here. Riots in rural areas were unheard of. Not to mention her family was a firm believer in being armed. They weren’t rednecks, though that was how Jill occasionally described them, but they did take the occasional practice shot at a line of empty beer cans.
The sledgehammer sat next to Sam’s bed and a crowbar sat propped beneath the television in the living room. He’d decided to bring both inside. He wanted something with which to defend himself.
The carpet was soft under Sam’s knees as he crawled up to the window and looked out into the street. He needed to get one of the radios to Jack so they could communicate. If either of them ran into trouble or needed backup, they could use the radios to formulate a plan.
Sam couldn’t see anyone on the street and he knew he’d lose the cover of darkness shortly. If he was going to act, it needed to be soon. He grabbed one radio, careful not to smudge the still-wet writing on the piece of duct tape. “7:00 A.M. or every hour on the hour after that. Channel 3,” he’d written. No use leaving the radio on the whole time and killing batteries. He dropped the radio into a plastic shopping bag.
The back door made a squeaking sound as it opened and Sam c
ringed a little. He walked quietly in the shadows, avoiding the moonlight whenever he could, until he reached the front of the house, where he crouched in the shadow of the front porch. The night was still and bright; there would be no cover as he moved across the street. If anyone was out, they would see him.
Sam pushed himself onto his feet and started across the street in a low run. Too late, he felt the tip of his shoe catch the edge of the curb and he sprawled forward onto his hands and knees. His palms grated like cheese on the rough blacktop and the radio skittered into the middle of the road.
“Shit!” he muttered. He got to his feet, scooped the radio up and continued running, giving the two bodies a wide berth as he ran onto the front stoop of Jack’s house. Sam opened the outer glass door and hung the plastic bag containing the radio on the inner door handle, then knocked in a distinct pattern, and sprinted back to the safety of his house. This time being careful to step over the edge of the curb. The entire operation took less than five minutes.
Back inside, he looked through the blinds, hoping Jack had heard the knock at the front door and would get the radio. After a few minutes, Sam decided to get some rest; staring out the window would do no good. He’d probably have to fill out a police report tomorrow about Jack defending himself once the phone lines were back up.
Sam set his alarm for 6:58 a.m., just in case Jack was using the radios, and collapsed onto his bed without bothering to change out of his clothes.
#
Sam awoke to silence. He opened his eyes. The sun was shining around the edges of the closed blinds. The numbers on the clock radio were no longer illuminated and there was no familiar hum of air conditioning.
The power was out.
Sam unlocked his bedroom door and walked to the front of the house. Peering under the blinds, he saw that the bodies were still lying on Jack’s front lawn. The bag containing the radio was no longer hanging from the front door.
