Outer Banks

by Anson Barber

  While some of us were content to live next to people with this affliction, even donate blood, most were not. In the United States we had an estimated three hundred thousand Haunts that had survived. On the other hand, China had ten times that number. Had.

  Hate groups started to grow in popularity. Names like Vampires, Demons and Zombies were being used. Rumors and outright lies were thrown around about them, claiming they could turn others into monsters like them or that this was just a larval stage before they burst open and turned into a Bug. None of this was true, but it didn’t matter if it was true. It felt true.

  Of course, when the world is covered with stupid people there were bound to be stupid people on both sides. Some Haunts believed their new form to be superior to humans, there were support groups that turned into cults, and some of those who couldn’t cope simply gave in to their baser instincts and became the monsters they feared.

  It was only a matter of time before the match was lit and the violence escalated. The worst stories made the news.

  By September, everyone was demanding something be done to protect the American people, and being an election year meant those demands were answered promptly.

  We had lockdowns in cities. Curfews meant Haunts were kept indoors during the night and since they couldn’t go out in the day they were basically prisoners in their own homes.

  In the end, the fear intensified until there was no other choice but to remove them from the general population. Laws were passed requiring Haunts be registered and surrendered to their closest clinic.

  The Outer Banks in North Carolina was chosen because it was a pleasant community surrounded by water and easy to regulate. Due to the Haunt’s weakened constitution, they wouldn’t be able to swim anywhere. Eminent domain was invoked to take possession of the entire region. The bridges were guarded, and all fuel was seized making escape by boat or vehicle nearly impossible. The President instituted a nationwide mandate compelling prison inmates to donate blood to keep up the inventory levels. I guess the idea was that things might calm down if voters weren’t constantly reminded the problem still existed.

  The government made it sound like we were doing them a favor by forcing them to live at a vacation destination for their protection. But really, it was just a fancy prison. An internment camp. We knew it, and they knew it. They even adopted the tourist term OBX, but now it made it sound like a supermax prison.

  Testing continued on the infected humans, sometimes with grave results. It didn’t exactly encourage Haunts to come to OBX. A number of them were kept hidden by their loved ones, while others fled their homes and hid wherever they could, often resorting to draining small animals and pets, and sometimes people.

  These rogues became despised. A pestilence we had to confine or get rid of. No longer part of the human race, they were seen as animals to be hunted.

  That was where I came in.

  This boy had been collecting the blood left behind from processing meat. It was a non-violent way for him to live, but I still needed to take him in. It was my job.

  In his case, I believed taking him to OBX was for his safety. It wouldn’t be long before some overzealous asshole took the matter of protecting the community into their own hands and hurt this kid. At least in quarantine he would be given clean blood and a safe place to stay.

  He slid back out of the window feet first and landed a foot from me with a light thump. His head only came up to my nose.

  He jumped when he realized I was there. His dark eyes looked up at me in fear, but he didn’t try to run. Instead, his shoulders slumped as he sighed and said, “Aw, hell.”

  “Sorry, kid. You’ve gotta come with me.” I frowned and he nodded. “You need anything from your place?”

  “No. I don’t have anything. I’ve been sleeping in a shed.” He shrugged.

  “Okay, let’s go. I have some food in the van. I’m guessing you’re probably hungry.”

  He looked up at me and nodded in defeat.

  “Am I going to the Outer Banks?” he asked.

  We had begun preparing the Upper Peninsula to hold Haunts, but so far it had been unnecessary.

  “That’s the only facility we’re using right now. Unless you’ve got the cash to get into the Florida Keys.”

  The boy looked down at his dirty clothes.

  “I seem to have left my gold card in my other pants.”

  “Are you going to give me any trouble? You can sit up front with me if you don’t try to run. Otherwise I’m going to have to lock you up in the back.”

  “I can barely walk fast. You’d find me from my panting if I tried,” he explained rolling his eyes. The gesture wasn’t lost even with his eyes being completely black. You can just tell.

  “Okay then.” I kept a slow pace with him as I led him back to my van. “Do you know about when you fall asleep? I can set my watch.”

  “Nah. I don’t know exactly.”

  I got a bag of blood out of the cooler, what some people called a juice box. After taking another look at him I grabbed a second bag. He didn’t look so good. I was surprised he could stay up this long in his condition.

  With the permit in my wallet, I was able to acquire blood at any hospital or clinic. I was also allowed to be in the company of a Haunt without being fined for harboring.

  Lawmakers had been scrambling to put together new rules to cover the extent of our mandate. The big one, whether it was murder to kill a Haunt, had yet to be resolved.

  Many of the Haunts had death certificates on file, created during the time they were underground. Given the strange ways in which their biology worked now, some tried to argue they weren’t just legally dead, but no longer human—and you could only murder humans.

  “Don’t bite me,” I warned as I handed the boy one of the bags. He tore into it right away as he followed me to the passenger’s door.

  It was always a strange sight to see. The one time the infected no longer seemed quite human was when they fed. It was like something else inside them took over, just for a second. But in his case he didn’t growl or snap like some I’d encountered. Other than gulping, he was downright civilized.

  He already had the first bag finished by the time I walked around to the driver’s side.

  “Buckle up.”

  “I can’t get hurt,” he said, but did as I asked.

  “You can get hurt, you’ll just heal fast. There is an extremely uncomfortable difference.” I chose not to mention how he was not unbreakable.

  “Maybe I just don’t care anymore,” he said.

  “Right, well, I don’t need you flying over here and hurting me.”

  He nodded as I handed him the second bag and started the van.

  “Thanks,” he said as he bit into it.

  “What’s your name?” I asked when he’d finished.

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “My name?”

  “Yes. You have a name, I’m sure.”

  “Corey. Corey Ralston.” It seemed like he hadn’t said it in a while. I guessed he hadn’t felt like a person in a while either.

  “I’m Dillon,” I told him to help put him at ease. He stared. I didn’t expect him to say it was nice to meet me. It rarely was.

  We rode in silence for the first half hour.

  “Nice van,” he finally said.

  “Thanks. I converted it myself. The safe box in the back is carpeted. It’s pretty roomy,” I told him. “I used to be a mechanic.”

  “Cool. How did you get this gig?” he asked.

  As we rode down the highway toward the Outer Banks, I answered his question.

  Chapter Two

  Bobby Sims had been instrumental in getting me the job. We’d served together in the same unit in Afghanistan before the invasion. He was a grunt and I worked in the motor pool. Bobby was alright, cracking jokes and bringing enough be
er for everyone on poker night. But he was also a loud-mouthed, opinionated redneck, who called Haunts all kinds of things and wanted to “wrangle them all up and put them out of their misery.” He was consistent at least—he did the same thing to enemy combatants back in the service.

  “A guy I used to know came into the garage where I was working,” I said. “He asked me if I could modify his pick-up truck with a safe box. He told me Homeland Security was hiring independent contractors to bring in Haunts. He put in a good word for me and got me the job.”

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  “Capturing kids and forcing them into a box? No. I don’t. I wish no one had to do any of this. I wish the Bugs hadn’t come and I was just a mechanic again.”

  “Why did you take the job then?”

  “It pays well, and I guess…” I didn’t want to upset him needlessly.

  “What?”

  “I’d seen others do it. I thought maybe I could do it better. Without hurting anyone.” I shrugged.

  “You didn’t hurt me, and I’ve heard of Hunters killing us if we caused too much trouble.”

  “I have a hard time believing a human wouldn’t be able to restrain a Haunt if they really tried. That’s why I hate that they call us Hunters. You don’t really have a chance. It’s like we’re hunting injured rabbits.” I shook my head.

  “This injured rabbit could probably drink another bag if you have one.”

  “Really?” I looked at him in surprise.

  “I’m fourteen. I was going through a growth spurt when it happened. Plus, yesterday was Sunday. No blood at the butcher shop.” I looked over his thin body. He was tall for fourteen and maybe he would have been bigger if he got to eat. His shaggy brown hair hung dull from lack of nutrition, like the others I’d seen.

  “You don’t get…?”

  “Feral?” he guessed what I had difficulty asking. “Once, almost, but not usually. Just really hungry.” He frowned like there was something else he thought about saying, but didn’t.

  I pulled over along the shoulder of the highway and pulled the key before I got out retrieving another bag of blood. Since no one liked referring to their meal as a bag of blood most called it a juice box—which was somehow both humanizing and patronizing. It pretty much summed up where things stood between us and them.

  “Thanks,” he said when I handed him the bag. “Will I get as much as I want at the Outer Banks?”

  “I think within reason.”

  “At least I won’t be starving all the time.”

  “Have you ever had to…?”

  The frown was back. “No. I vaguely remember breaking into an old lady’s house once, but she got a phone call. I could hear her talking to her daughter. I made myself sick. It’s so weird having these instincts, but then to know better after.” He looked repulsed by the memory.

  “It’s not your fault. No one blames you.”

  “Yeah they do. Even if they don’t, they fear me and they don’t want me around.” He sniffed. I couldn’t deny that.

  “They’re still working on a cure. I’m sure someone smarter than us will figure it out.”

  “I don’t really want to be their guinea pig though. I hear they do that. Is that true?”

  “They’re still testing on people at the Outer Banks, yes, that’s true.” He looked out the window, biting his bottom lip. “Were you given a reversing agent after you woke up?” If he had, he wouldn’t be able to be used for testing. While those early trials were completely ineffective, the agent stayed in their system and messed up the results of other tests.

  “No.”

  I sensed his worry about this topic, and for good reason. The first round of TSV trials eventually killed the majority of the Haunts it had been given to, but people were so afraid of what they might become that clinical trials were skipped and volunteers lined up around the block. Before they started to die and the trials stopped it had seemed promising. The ones that didn’t die had their symptoms return within a day or two.

  The second round of testing took longer to go bad, but the results were even more devastating. After that they slammed on the brakes and took a step back.

  “My mom had a reaction to the second trial,” he said. I could tell by his face he had witnessed it. I didn’t want to think about what that had looked like.

  “Sorry. Your dad?”

  “Dunno. Maybe he didn’t dig himself out.” He shrugged. “Or maybe I’ll be seeing him soon.” He smiled doubtfully. “I guess if he’s there it will be the first time I’ll be around him when he’s not drunk.”

  “I’m guessing you’re too young to be tested on. I think you’ll be safe.” I didn’t know. Just wanted him not to worry too much.

  “It’s not like I wouldn’t volunteer if they had something that would actually work. I just don’t want to be the one they’re taking wild guesses on, you know? To die for a hunch would kind of piss me off.”

  “Yeah. I get that.”

  We chatted about other things for the next couple of hours. It was nice to have someone to talk to. Most of my captures chose to stay in the box for the entire transport. This time I didn’t have to worry about falling asleep as I drove down the dark highway. Though I was well rested, my body still wanted to sleep when it was dark.

  Corey told me about a girl he liked from school before the attack. He didn’t know what happened to her. He thought she might be at OBX when he got there. Krista was her name.

  I told him about the Krista I had dated once, and gave him a PG version of that relationship while he laughed and made fun of me. It’s the little things that help people feel a little more at ease. A little more normal.

  “You starting to wind down?” I asked him. Most Haunts could feel it coming a ways off.

  “Yeah. Maybe a half hour yet.”

  “If you want you can stay in a hotel room, or would you feel more comfortable in the safe box?” I gave him an option because he seemed like a nice kid. I felt bad when I heard about the shed accommodations he had been living in.

  “Uh. The safe box is fine. I don’t want anyone giving you shit if they see me with you.”

  “Watch your language.” I sighed when he laughed at my reaction. “I don’t care about that. I have a permit. As long as I have you with me, there is no reason you can’t sleep in a hotel.”

  “I think I’ll stay with the box. Just in case something happens to the curtains in the room or some other freak accident. Besides, after I go to sleep I won’t care if I’m comfortable or not.”

  I frowned as I pulled into a hotel off the highway. We were close to Montgomery. It didn’t seem right to lock a boy in the box for the day.

  Before the invasion, I once heard about a woman who got fined for leaving her child in the car on a hot day with the windows shut. She ran into the store to get a gallon of milk and ended up staying to flirt with someone. I remember thinking she deserved to get more than a fine.

  Yet here I was putting this boy in the back of a black van for what was sure to be a warm, Alabama, March day.

  Of course his body temperature wouldn’t go above sixty-five degrees, another one of those little quirks brought on by the change, but it still felt wrong.

  “Good night, Corey. I’ll see you this evening when you get up.”

  “See you then. Thanks.” He pulled the door shut and I secured the padlocks before I went to get a room. The whole time I watched to make sure no one had seen me stow him in the van.

  That was always a concern—what if some hothead broke into my van while I was sleeping, and hurt someone I was transporting, or dumped their comatose body out in the sun to watch it burn? It hadn’t happened yet, but it was always a fear of mine.

  The sun came up as I helped myself to the continental breakfast in the lobby. An older couple was watching the news while I had a Danish and bowl of
stale Lucky Charms.

  Another round of TSV trials had gone bad, but at least no one had died. I looked out toward my van, hoping I was right about them not testing on Corey. He was only fourteen. He shouldn’t end up a guinea pig. He had a life to live.

  Or did he? What kind of life would it be? Some thought his life was over the moment he was buried in the ground. But he was a person. He had fears and hopes and still worried about what had happened to the girl he liked from eighth grade.

  After requesting a wakeup call, I went up to my room and fell into bed.

  I ate dinner for breakfast and got a head start before Corey woke. I pulled over when he started tapping on the door earlier than expected.

  I squeezed between the seats to open the box. He blinked as he looked out the UV tinted window to see the last sliver of daylight slide over the edge of the earth.

  “The sun!” he said with a big smile on his face. It was gone before he even got those two words out.

  “Did it look the way you remembered?” I asked, smiling back at him.

  “No.” He shook his head.

  He saw the sun in a way I never could. With a longing I would never know. I took the sun for granted even now. I could go outside whenever I wanted. I wasn’t in danger of the sun the way this boy and three hundred thousand others were.

  Once he was buckled in with his juice box, he started chatting again. He shared some facts about the sun I hadn’t known. He was a cool kid. He kind of reminded me of myself when I was younger.

  “Ralston?” I said to myself, thinking it over. “My grandfather on my mom’s side was a Ralston. Was your family originally from Texas?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. My dad was drunk half the goddamn time. I don’t think he knew where he was at the moment, let alone where his relatives came from.”