“Sounds good,” Charla nodded as she moved to set the towels she’d collected beside Wendell on the dining room table and then hurried off to gather the other items Chris had requested.
Just as she’d gathered the last few items from the bathroom, the lights flickered and then went out.
“Great,” Chris sighed. “Looks like we’ll be doing this in the dark. Lucky you’ve got a lot of candles around here,” he smiled down at Wendell as Charla handed him a pair of scissors and he began cutting away Wendell’s coat and sweater sleeves.
Wendell was just trying not to pass out from the combination of pain and shock he was undergoing from his injury.
A half hour of cutting, cleaning, stitching, and bandaging later, Wendell was patched up as good as he was going to get under the circumstances.
“How did you learn to patch wounds like that?” Charla asked Chris as they helped Wendell up and off the dining room table.
“You forget what I do for a living,” Chris grinned at her as they led Wendell over to the sofa and set him down.
“But you do tree trimming, right?” Charla said.
“Right,” Chris nodded. “I was around chainsaws and all sorts of other sharp cutting devices. Sadly, I’ve seen a lot worse than this,” he nodded at Wendell’s bandaged shoulder.
With Wendell settled and finally starting to feel the effects of several pain pills that Chris had instructed Charla to administer, Chris walked over and pulled a chair out from the dining room table.
Charla followed him over.
“And now, if you could help me,” he said to her, grimacing as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the sort of torso that Charla had only seen in movies and maybe an occasional dream. Chris swiveled slightly to reveal a long, multi-inch gash in his upper shoulder.
Charla inhaled sharply, reaching out a hand toward Chris’ back, and then retracting it after seeing the severity of the wound. “How did that happen?” she asked softly.
“Got hit when I was sheltering you and Wendell on the balcony,” Chris explained. “Probably looks worse than it is,” he said bravely.
“I don’t know about that,” Charla muttered. “Looks pretty damn bad to me.”
“Think you can patch it up?” Chris asked.
“Me?” Charla said hesitantly.
“You watched what I did with Wendell. Just do the same for me, if you wouldn’t mind. The stitch job doesn’t have to be great. We’re not mending clothes here or anything,” he gave her a confident smile.
“Oh, yeah,” Charla scoffed. “Nothing as important as clothes…just your body,” she snorted sarcastically.
“Give it your best shot,” Chris nodded. “By the way, you got anything to drink around here a little stronger than wine?”
“I think so. Let me check,” Charla hurried off to the kitchen and was back a minute later with a top-shelf brand of vodka.
“Friends brought this to a dinner party we had a while back,” she held up the bottle for Chris to see. “We’re not big drinkers of alcohol other than wine and beer, so it’s been sitting here ever since.”
Chris inspected the bottle and then unscrewed its top. “A little better than I’m used to, but that’s fine by me,” he took a long swig, swallowed, and then took another large gulp. “Mmm…smooth,” he nodded, holding the bottle out in front of him before taking another drink. Then he set the bottle down on the dining room table. “Keep it close in case you hit any nerves while you’re stitching,” he smiled that beautiful smile of his at Charla. It both inspired her in her work yet made her all the more timid, not wanting to hurt this kind, unselfish, not to mention wonderful looking man.
It took Charla a bit longer to clean and patch up Chris than it had the two of them working together on Wendell’s wound. And her patch job wasn’t as neat. Wendell lay on the sofa, silently staring up at the shadows dancing on the ceiling while his wife patched up their neighbor.
Charla tried to make small talk with Chris while she worked in the candlelight. She did this mostly to help keep her mind off the fact that she was currently sewing human flesh rather than a split seam on the arm of one of Wendell’s many sweaters.
“Why do you think they bombed the bridge?” she asked as she first cleaned Chris’ wound.
“They’re probably trying to keep the spread of the biters to a minimum…or at least contain them to certain parts of the city,” Chris said. “If they can destroy certain infrastructure, they may be able to halt or at least slow the movement of the infected.”
“But why that bridge?” Charla said. “The biters are already here?”
“Right,” Chris nodded. “They’re in Lyons, but they may not be in Riverside yet, or maybe they are but not in the numbers they are here.”
“So now we’re stuck in one of the infected zones then?”
Chris shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know for sure that’s what they’re doing, but considering they pulled those National Guard troops out of here just before they blew the bridge, it’d sure be my guess.”
“Ahh,” Chris grimaced and sucked through his teeth as Charla struck a tender point in her work.
“Sorry,” she pulled her hand back. “It’s hard to see in this light.”
“It’s fine,” Chris shook his head and did his best to give her another confidence inspiring smile. Then he took a drink of vodka. “Okay…keep going,” he nodded.
Charla got back to her work for a minute before saying, “So do you think they’ll be back?”
“What, the jet fighter that blew the bridge?” Chris frowned.
“No…the National Guard, or the army, or someone who will help us or at least kill the biters.”
Chris shook his head. “Don’t know. Sure hope so, but I really have no idea. I don’t know what the government’s plans are for this thing…if they have any at all. They haven’t had much success controlling the syndrome so far. And the more things break down around large cities like Chicago, the harder it’s going to be to get a handle on the situation. I think their only hope is to find a vaccine or cure or something; otherwise, it seems to me like it’s just going to keep spreading. I mean, the power is off,” he gestured around them. “Is it going to come back on?” he shrugged at Charla after the rhetorical question. “If it doesn’t, people are going to have it doubly tough. We’ll be trying to hold out against the biters while at the same time making due without electricity…maybe without water. Pretty soon, people will be out of food and water. They’ll be forced to start scavenging for stuff…unless the government intervenes. Then they’ll be exposing themselves to the biters, who will in turn infect more of the uninfected…or eat them. And then there will be even more biters to contend with for those who remain. And I’d think it would probably just keep snowballing from there until eventually everyone is dead or infected.”
“Boy, you sure know how to paint a rosy picture,” Wendell broke his silence from where he lay on the sofa.
“Just being honest,” Chris said. “I think we’ll know better by tomorrow. If there’s some sort of plan to try to combat these things in any sort of organized manner, the sooner they get on it, the better. If we don’t see any military units back by then, I think we’ll have a pretty good idea of whether or not we’re going this alone.”
Chapter 7
Michael and the other Blender men had just made it back to their vehicles when the bridge was blasted to smithereens. And this wasn’t an explosion like on television or in the movies – a sort of magical fireworks display. This wasn’t just supremely loud decibels rumbling through the movie theater speakers in high def.
This was REAL.
Michael felt it in his bones. It was jarring, jolting, blinding, deafening, terrifying. It was like nothing he’d ever known.
Michael and the others took shelter behind their vehicles as debris rained down around them. Large chunks of concrete pounded into the vehicles. The rear window of his Suburban was smashed out by a piece of bridge that was hurled thro
ugh it. Many of the other vehicle hoods and roofs were pockmarked by impacts.
As soon as the storm cloud of debris raining from the sky had settled, Michael urged the others into action. While some of the biters clustered on the road had been ripped apart by bridge shrapnel, and many of the others in the herd had fled in fear, the Blenders were far from safe. Michael counted at least a dozen or more biters still in the area. And he figured it wouldn’t be long before the ones that had fled recovered their wits and returned to finish their Mendoza meal or investigate the possibility of dessert provided by the remaining Blenders.
“Let’s go!” he yelled. “In there!” he pointed at Hofmann Tower, looming behind where their vehicle convoy sat scattered haphazardly around the parking lot.
The group, armed with little more than the weapons and ammunition they had on them, retreated to what they prayed would be a position they could hold until morning.
* * *
Across the street, the Hines family was doing their best to recover their wits and take inventory of any injuries among the six-member family.
Poor little Rebecca had become a quivering, gelatinous-like mess who refused to be torn from her father’s arms. Seven-year-old Sarah was little better, but she was at least willing to walk on her own as long as she could hold her mother’s hand. Patricia and Anthony were better off emotionally, but Patricia was bleeding from a cut she’d received to her forehead after being hit with a piece of stone, and Anthony was limping from where a larger piece of concrete had struck him in the thigh. Victoria had also been hit by debris in the head as well as in the back, but she was able to shake off the pain due to the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
But more than the physical injuries or the mental anguish the night had brought thus far, the Hines family was facing another dilemma. While the bridge blast had rattled them all, and though it had laid waste to a large portion of the biters around them, there was another side effect of the blast. It had driven a significant number of the remaining biters back away from the bridge and into the street the Hines family was trying to cross to reach the other Blenders. And while there were far fewer biters remaining to contend with, Monte only had a hand-loaded, five-shot handgun that took time to reload once fired.
Therefore, the Hines family faced a tough decision. Even though they were close to the salvation of their friends across the street, there was no way they could risk getting to them with the limited firepower at their disposal. Monte had already fired three of his five shots. It would take him too much time to reload, longer than it would take the biters to recover their senses and come after him and his family. And with him carrying Rebecca, and having the other three children in tow, making a break for it across the street, with biters all over the place, presented a daunting and high-risk endeavor.
Therefore, Monte made a call. It was a difficult decision to say the least, but it was one he had to make to ensure the continued safety of his family.
“Come on…this way,” he hissed to Victoria, nodding toward 39th Street behind them. He quickly and quietly led them into the relative darkness of the somewhat secluded side street.
The curvature of the river in the section of the city formed a sort of peninsula at the end of what was Lyons proper. This peninsula was sprinkled with a handful of homes, mostly in its middle section closest to 39th Street. But the majority of this area remained un-developed as it was mostly forest that became wooded wetlands when the river flooded. There was a sole walking trail snaking its way trough the western side of the area and connecting with a paved bike path through its center.
“Daddy, I want to get back to Michael, and to Patrick, and to the others,” Sarah cried.
Monte noticed several biters on the street starting to take notice of them. Several more were already headed their way.
“We have to move!” Monte urged. “We’ll get back to the others, but right now we have to go this way,” he began to lead the group down the street.
“But Daddy, it’s the wrong way!” Sarah moaned.
“Remember in the movie Cars?” Monte asked her. “Remember when Doc tells Lightning that sometimes you have to turn left to go right. Well, that’s what we’re doing right now. We’re going away from the others so that we can get back to them later…once things have calmed down. Okay?”
“Okay, Daddy,” Sarah sniffled, following her father obediently, still holding her mother’s hand.
As they moved down the darkened thoroughfare, more aircraft, flying low, screamed across the night sky. This was followed moments later by several flashes of light and the rumble of explosions to their east.
“What in the hell was that?” Victoria cried.
“They’re probably taking out the Ogden Avenue bridge on the other side of Lyons,” Monte breathed heavily. “Things must really be getting bad.”
“You think?” Victoria shot him a look as Sarah stumbled, tugging her to the side as she used her mother’s arm for support. Victoria quickly righted herself and helped her second youngest back to her feet.
“Jesus, I’m out of shape,” Monte sucked in a huge breath. “Hon’, can you walk for a bit?” he asked Rebecca.
“Huh uh,” she shook her head and clung even tighter to Monte, something he didn’t think was possible.
“Momma, I’m scared,” Patricia whined.
“I know, sweetie. Just hang in there.” Victoria looked over at her husband as they hurried down the street. “Where are we going?” she asked in a hushed tone.
“I don’t know…just…just somewhere…somewhere safe,” Monte sucked wind.
“And exactly where would that be?” Victoria hissed.
Monte remained silent, unsure of the answer himself.
The street was bordered by a series of what appeared to be mostly businesses to their right and forest to their left. A few houses were occasionally intermingled on both sides of the street.
Finally, Monte said, “I don’t want to try these buildings because the people inside them might think that we’re biters. I guess we could duck into the forest preserve and hide out for a while. But I really don’t want to sleep outside tonight. It’s cold as crap, and all our supplies are back in the car.”
They came to a side street, the sign to which read, “Stenson Street”.
“I remember this street,” Monte perked up, pausing in their retreat. “Don’t you, hon’?” he asked Victoria.
“No…not really,” she shook her head.
“It leads down that block of houses that dead-ends with the paved bike trail. The one that leads to the suspension bridge. We stumbled across it a couple years ago when we were exploring Riverside that one day, remember?”
“Oh yeah,” Victoria nodded. “Vaguely. I definitely remember the suspension bridge…not much else.”
“There was that one house, remember? Toward the end of the block, the one that looked like they were renovating but then ran out of money to finish.”
“I do remember that, now that you mention it,” said Victoria.
“I wonder if that house is still empty?” Monte breathed heavily. They slowed their pace and then stopped. The family stood in silence for a few seconds. The sound of footsteps floated down the street behind them. This was followed by the outline of an approaching person framed by a distant streetlight.
“Come on, I have an idea,” Monte said. “Ugh,” he groaned, stooping to let Rebecca slip down from him to the ground. “You’ve got to walk, honey,” he said. “I can’t go on like this.”
“But Daddy, I’m scaaared!” Rebecca whined.
“You’ll be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you. You just hold Daddy’s hand,” Monte assured her as he gripped her tiny hand tightly in his. “Now come on. You have to be brave for Daddy.”
Monte led his flock as quietly as he could down Stenson Street. Most of the homes were dark, and no streetlights were on, making it difficult to see. But Monte was thankful for the darkness. It gave him comfort knowing that they we
re better hidden from biters as well as those sheltering residents who might mistake his own family for a biter hoard.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Victoria breathed softly in the darkness.
“No,” Monte answered frankly. “But I’m doing my best to pretend.”
Victoria stayed silent after that. She’d hoped that her husband had some sort of grand plan to save the day, to sweep them all to safety. But for as much as she didn’t want to, she recognized the reality of the situation. And that reality terrified her.
To help sooth her frayed nerves, Victoria momentarily let go of Patricia’s hand and dug inside her coat pocket. She pulled out her cell phone and clicked it to illumination. It was a nervous habit. The sight of her phone and all its little app signs scattered across its screen acted to calm her. She saw its background, a shot of her beautiful smiling family on a warm beach in Florida last spring break. Even though she wasn’t getting service at the moment, just seeing the phone felt good, like home, like things were still normal.
“Turn that off!” Monte hissed, but it was too late.
There was a noise from one side of the street, and then that sickening sound, one that had become all too familiar. It was that clicking, chattering of biter teeth.
A figure loomed out of the darkness from the side of the road. It approached steadily but cautiously, like an animal stalking prey.
“Daddeeeee!” Rebecca squealed.
Monte pushed his daughter back behind him, away from the approaching biter, unsure of how to proceed. He pulled his gun, wanting to shoot the biter. But he didn’t want the sound of his weapon being discharged to draw other biters to them. Plus, he only had two bullets remaining in his gun. With Rebecca clinging to him, and the darkness, he’d probably drop half the bullets in the process of trying to reload anyway.
Keeping the quivering Rebecca behind him, the rest of his family behind her, Monte waited. He waited until the biter was just ready to lunge at him before he acted. It took everything in his being not to put his last two bullets into the biter as soon as it was close enough to ensure a kill shot. But Monte forced himself to wait until the last possible moment, until he could actually reach out and touch the biter. In fact, that’s exactly what he did. In an effort to muzzle some of the sound from his weapon, Monte used a well-cushioned arm from his thick coat to block the biter, holding it at bay, teeth gnashing as he jammed his gun right into its stomach and pulled the trigger.
The Last Bastion [Book 2] Page 6
