The Infected: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller

by Cronan, Matt

  "Why do you think they're running?" Sam asked and let the top of her hand brush his.

  "I suppose some people feel they still have something to lose," Jordan said.

  Joel Hawkins, a lanky boy with a thick layer of acne, sprinted past them at a frantic pace.

  "What's going on, Joel?" Sam shouted after him.

  The teen slowed to a stop and turned on his heel. Pocks and craters covered the boy's face and fear resonated from his eyes. Between gasps, he managed, "They caught…six citizens…something about treason…whatever it is…real bad."

  "What?" Jordan asked. "Who? Why?" A series of questions cascaded from his lips, but they fell on deaf ears. Joel was on the move again. Not yet at a sprint, but rather a quick jog.

  "Who did they catch?" Sam yelled.

  The firmness of her voice caused the boy to stop. He turned again and placed his hands on his knees. After a few deep inhales, he looked back to them. "The Ministry caught six and they're accusing them of treason. That's all I can say." Joel motioned toward the plaza. "Can I go now?" The moment's hesitation gave Sam an opportunity to interrogate him further.

  "Joel Hawkins, you tell me what you know," Sam said.

  Blood rushed into his face, making the skin under the sea of acne glow bright red. The color faded fast, and the boy grew stark white. He looked from Sam to Jordan and then back to Sam. A sudden, intense fear burrowed its way into her stomach.

  "Don't know who they caught," Joel said, and then added, "but the Prime Minister is at the square and he's holding court." This time, he didn't wait for any further questions and sprinted away.

  Sam's stomach clinched at the news and she fought to keep her body from doubling over. If the Minister held court at the square, it was so the public could see. The six accused of treason would be tried and made an example. The Minister was the judge and the jury, but he'd bring along an executioner to handle the dirty work. She forced her legs to move, and after a few painful steps, she was at full stride. Jordan kept pace beside her. She said a silent prayer that the Minister was in a gracious mood. It was a fool's prayer; God had stopped listening a long time ago, but she prayed just the same.

  Hundreds of people gathered around the enormous stage at the edge of the plaza. Dozens of soldiers, each paired with two ICC workers, guarded the outskirts of the crowd. The ICC officials scanned each citizen as they approached the plaza. The soldiers served as muscle. Sam and Jordan split up, and they each jogged to the closest available group.

  "You're late," the soldier said. She was a thin black woman with dark eyes and graying hair. The patch across her breast read Robertson. Her cold gaze fixed on Sam. Sam ignored her and held her wrist out to the ICC official closest to her.

  "Nothing's happened yet," Sam said and beckoned to the stage.

  The ICC official pulled the sleeve of Sam's coverall back and scanned the barcode tattoo on her wrist. The screen on the device flickered and Sam's picture and name appeared. The official released her wrist and his partner held a portable retina scanner up to Sam's eyes. A red LED light moved from the top of her eye to the bottom and then a green light atop the device illuminated.

  "She's good," the official said.

  Sam turned to join Jordan when the soldier caught her by the sleeve. "They're watching you."

  They shared a long silent look. The soldier's eyes burned with hatred and Sam mirrored it to reflect her own. No love lost between them. Sam had hated the Ministry and its minions from the moment she stepped foot inside of the concrete walls. Killing Rebecca Young had further solidified her disdain for the Ministry. The soldier released her grip but continued to glare. Sam stared for a moment longer and then walked away.

  "What was that all about?" Jordan asked when they were out of earshot.

  "I'm not sure."

  The crowd buzzed as they waited for the arrival of the Minister. Sam caught fragments of worrisome chatter as they pushed their way to the front. The knot in her stomach tightened with each step, and by the time they reached the midpoint, a cold wave of sweat had broken on her forehead. Sam paused and wiped it away with her coveralls.

  The stage towered over them and cast a long ominous shadow over the plaza. The Ministry had constructed it after the city gates closed for the last time. During their first year in New Hope, it served as an entertainment outlet for the citizens. They congregated each night as friends and neighbors performed plays and musicals from the pre-infection days. They told stories of a world that no longer existed and sang songs about places and things that they'd never see again. The first year was the only good year Sam could remember.

  It took just one song of rebellion and the stage became off-limits to the citizens. It was a brisk autumn evening when Tim Miller, an older man who worked in landscaping, belted out a rendition of Bob Marley's "Redemption Song." Midway through the second verse, the crowd joined in and something electric filled the air. As Tim reached the last line of the song, a soldier rushed the stage and put a bullet through his skull. The old man crumpled, and the crowd watched in horror as blood and gray matter poured from the gaping hole.

  That was the moment when the citizens of New Hope first opened their eyes. Freedom and liberty had been surrendered for protection and security. Within a few days of the incident, the government—they would later refer to themselves as the Ministry—started releasing new rules and policies, and within a month, the word freedom was nothing more than a foreign concept.

  "Come on," Jordan said and grabbed her hand.

  The physical contact snapped her back to the present, and she jerked her hand away. Jordan's face twisted in anguish as if Sam had stabbed him in the heart, but a second later it relaxed and he mouthed a silent apology.

  If a Ministry official saw a display of physical intimacy, even a gesture as miniscule as holding hands, then the inquiries would begin. They would be shipped off to the outskirts of town and Sam would be pregnant with Jordan's seed before either of them could raise a hand in protest. Sam had no intention of living on the baby farm and neither did Jordan.

  "I'm coming," she said.

  They pushed through the majority of the crowd with ease and neared the stage when a hand wrapped around Sam's arm and pulled her in the opposite direction. Her heart leapt into her throat. Thoughts of them being seen by an official flooded her mind, but when she spun around, the fear waned. It wasn't an official that had grabbed her but rather her friend, Abigail Stevens.

  The girl was Sam's age and on most days they could pass for twins. But today, Abby's face was swollen and puffy. Her thick brown hair disheveled and the whites of her eyes so bloodshot that Sam wondered how long she had been crying.

  "Abby, what's wrong?" Sam asked. She grabbed a hold of Jordan's sleeve to prevent him from moving any further. He stopped, examined the situation, and a concerned expression washed over his face.

  "My brother—" Abigail said. Her voice broke and tears rolled down her cheeks. A single high-pitched squeal escaped her before and she wilted into a full-blown bawl.

  "What about him?" Jordan asked. "Where's Tyler?"

  Tyler Stevens worked in maintenance alongside Jordan. The siblings were a rare anomaly in New Hope. Parent-child relationships didn't exist outside the baby farms. The majority of the citizens were sole survivors of their respective families.

  "Where's your brother, Abby?" Jordan's eyes grew wide, and he placed a hand on each of Abby's shoulders. When he asked again, his voice was low. "Where is Tyler?"

  Abby didn't answer with words, perhaps couldn't answer, and instead pointed to the stage. Sam turned and through the crowd saw six hooded men. They sat on their knees, their hands and ankles shackled. Tears formed in Sam's eyes and she fought hard to suppress them. She had never been as close to Tyler as she was to Abigail, but the Stevens', next to Jordan and Rebecca, were the closest thing to family she had here.

  Rebecca.

  An image of the young girl clawing at the doorframe swam to the forefront of Sam's brain and the t
ears spilled from her eyes. She pushed the thought away and wiped the thought from her mind. This wasn't the time to mourn. At least not for Rebecca.

  "Why is he up there?" Jordan asked.

  "We were eating breakfast in the mess hall," Abigail said. "We were just sitting there and when I looked up, two soldiers were standing behind him. They said they had proof of acts of conspiracy against the Ministry, and that he was going to be tried for treason. They said he was facing—"

  Abigail didn't finish and instead melted into another wave of sobs and tears. But she didn't have to finish for Sam to know why she was so upset. The punishment for treason was execution and just like when a citizen became infected—there were no exceptions. The muttering of the crowd died as the national anthem pumped out of the speakers around the stage and Sam's blood boiled with hatred.

  4

  Feedback squelched through the speakers and the few citizens who had covered their hearts lowered their hands. Cyrus Poxxal, a man whose dimensions didn't match one another, slid out from behind the velvet backdrop and waddled across the stage. He was a heavyset man who stood just over five feet tall. His long, black mane was pulled back into a ponytail which looked comical considering the lack of hair atop his head. He peered over the crowd through circular wire-rimmed glasses with light blue lenses. They made his fat face appear even meatier and Sam grimaced at the sight of him. He trundled to the center of the stage and then smiled.

  "Attention, citizens of New Hope," he said. The man talked through his nose and caused Sam's skin to erupt into gooseflesh. "It's my greatest honor to introduce our wonderful leader. Please give a warm welcome to Prime Minister Carson Troy." He smiled a crooked, yellowed smile and clapped his chubby hands together. Most of the audience members followed suit and applauded. Sam, Jordan and Abigail did not join in.

  A thin man emerged from behind the curtain and slithered across the stage. He paused for a moment to sneer at the six prisoners and then addressed the microphone. Cyrus offered an exaggerated bow and Troy waved a dismissive hand at him. Without hesitation, the fat, little man waddled back offstage.

  The Prime Minister wore a long, black coat with deep purple trim. Except for his age, he was the polar opposite of Cyrus. Troy was tall and gaunt with a long face and hollow eyes. His salt-and-pepper hair matched the pencil-thin mustache and goatee. He stroked the goatee, delivered a devilish smile to the crowd, cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone.

  "Citizens of New Hope," his deep voice boomed from the speakers, "we have traitors amongst us."

  A clamorous rumble overtook the crowd and Troy lifted his hand to silence it. The crowd fell silent at once. He stared out into the ocean of onlookers. The population of New Hope was around 8,000 citizens and Sam guessed most were in attendance. The sick and the pregnant would be at home and they'd be forced to watch on their televisions.

  "A little over ten years ago, a biological weapon detonated in our nation's capital…on our nation's soil. The government considered the weapon's contents, the RIZ-4 virus, the ultimate global threat, and within two weeks of the detonation, it had spread throughout the world with a 99.9% infection rate. We lost friends and neighbors. Family and co-workers."

  His words grew soft as he recounted the horrible story of their past. An image of the burning city flashed in Sam's brain and she shuddered. Jordan grabbed her hand and this time she didn't pull away. The crowd was packed too tightly for anyone to notice.

  "Over five-billion people died within the first 48 hours," Troy said. Each word grew more somber and Sam's anger intensified. "We lost more during the quarantines and you, the fine citizens of New Hope, became all that is left of the United States of America," he paused, waiting for his words to sink in and then continued, "us and the infected." Another low murmuring swept through the crowd and this time Troy did not try to stop it. Instead, he waited for the citizens to silence themselves.

  His voice intensified. "The Ministry has done its best to protect the great citizens of New Hope from the monstrosities roaming the wastelands. We have committed ourselves to guard the freedoms that this great city holds so dear."

  "This is such bullshit," Jordan said in a whisper.

  Sam nodded.

  "An estimated 10 million of those monstrosities roam what's left of the United States." Troy lowered his voice again. "Ten million. An army of abominations waiting to rip the flesh from your bones."

  Sam sighed, her heart heavy in her chest. That part wasn't bullshit and the idea of a childhood friend, or worse a family member, as an infected caused another swell of tears to return to her eyes. This time she blinked them away.

  "We have worked so hard to keep you safe," Troy said, now sounding disappointed in the audience. "We have worked so hard, and how do you repay us?" He removed the microphone from its stand and hurried across the stage to where the prisoners knelt.

  "You repay us with treachery." He reached the first prisoner and yanked the black hood from the man's head. Donald Robbins, an old-timer that worked in Maintenance alongside Jordan and Tyler, stared at ground. The man didn't acknowledge the crowd and kept his eyes fixed on the stage. Sam squeezed Jordan's hand. He returned a feeble squeeze of his own. She glanced at him and saw the color drain from his face.

  "You repay us with disloyalty." His voice had turned venomous. He moved to the second prisoner and ripped the hood away. The second man was Ken Hunter, who worked as a farmer. A sickening cry erupted from somewhere deep in the crowd. Sam imagined it belonged to Ken's wife, Darla. The knot in her stomach cinched and a wave of acid made its way up her throat. Somewhere in this lineup was Abigail's brother.

  "You repay us by showing an utter lack of allegiance and devotion for your city." Troy moved to the third man and pulled off his hood.

  "Ray Carrol," Jordan said. His voice was cold.

  "You repay us by violating the very rules and regulations we have put in place to protect you," Troy said, pulling off both the fourth and fifth men's masks. Derek and Darryl Hoffman were identical twins. The lone pair in the city. They worked as porters. Sam knew them well. They visited the laundry facility daily to drop off chemicals and pick up fresh linens. Their faces were stony and pale.

  One prisoner remained.

  "You repay us by defiling every sacrifice we have made for you." Troy paused for a moment and the corners of his mouth sunk into a reproachful grimace. He gripped the hood of the last man and snatched it off.

  Tyler Stevens.

  Abby screamed out something incomprehensible and then melted into silent sobs. The Minister looked in their direction and the scowl curled into a faint grin. It was thin—almost invisible—but it was there and it sickened her.

  "These are the men responsible for the breach yesterday," Troy said.

  Sam shot Jordan a glance, but he didn't look back.

  "These are the men responsible for the death of four citizens."

  "It's not true," Abby said. Her voice was so quiet only the people closest to her heard it.

  "These men compromised the lives of every citizen of New Hope."

  A handful of onlookers jeered at this last statement and then others joined in. Troy had won over the mob and the faint grin appeared once more. After a chorus of boos and hisses, he spat on the ground and marched back to center stage. He placed the microphone back in the stand and plucked a thin, piece of parchment from his pocket. He lifted a hand, and the crowd drew silent.

  "On this 14th day of April," he read from the paper, "I, Prime Minister Carson Troy, hereby declare the acts these six men committed as treason. These six men are a reprehensible stain on our society and have proven they are no longer worthy of residing within these city walls. We will punish these deplorable acts in the swiftest of manners as a reminder to the citizens of New Hope that the Ministry acts in the best interests of the people, for the people."

  Some of the citizens cheered. Sam wanted to vomit.

  "Any man, woman or creature that puts the common good of our great c
ity at jeopardy is considered an enemy of the state." As he spoke, four soldiers appeared from behind the thick, velvet curtain. They strutted single file across the stage and lined up behind the prisoners.

  "Let the record show, at ten past the hour of eight, on this Tuesday morning, I hereby find these six men guilty of all charges brought forth to me and condemn them to death…by decapitation."

  Abby, along with several others in the crowd, screamed and wailed but the chorus of cheers drowned out their mournful protests. After a moment, the cheering softened but Abby's cries remained.

  "As New Hope is a free society," Troy said, "if, for any reason, a person wishes to contradict this ruling and can provide ample proof that would acquit these men from their heinous acts, let them speak now."

  The crowd fell silent, and Troy's grin widened into a sickening smile.

  "Let the record state the citizens of New Hope have acceded my ruling and punishment. Let the executions commence and let God have mercy on their souls." The minster moved from the microphone to the left side of the stage. Cyrus Poxxal emerged from behind the curtain and handed Troy a glass of water. He gulped the contents down but never took his eyes off of the prisoners.

  Abigail sobbed and when Tyler Stevens made eye contact with his sister, he began to cry. He sat upright on his knees, his face emotionless, while two of the soldiers unshackled him. They drug him to the center of the stage where a third soldier waited. This one carried a long-handled ax. A fourth soldier wheeled a wooden block from somewhere off stage and placed it in front of Tyler.

  The soldier carrying the ax pushed Tyler's head forward until it rested on the block and a deafening silence swept over the crowd as everyone seemed to hold their breaths in unison. Sam looked over to Abby. The girl squeezed her eyes shut and buried her head in her hands. She was about to lose the only family she had left in this world and an abhorrent bitterness pooled somewhere deep inside of Sam. Rebecca's death was still fresh in her mind.