The Alt Apocalypse (Book 4): Affliction

by Abrahams, Tom

  “You’re not a horrible person or a fool,” she said. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. I know it’s trite, but it’s true. We do what we need to do when it comes to survival. It’s instinctual. Besides, wouldn’t Arthur want you to be safe?”

  Claudia bit her lower lip, appearing to consider the question with more intensity than Gilda would have thought. Claudia’s eyes brimmed again with tears.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, yes, he would. Of course he would. But with the way I up and left him…”

  Gilda let the unfinished thought hang in the air. She considered a half dozen responses before placing a hand on Claudia’s knee. She looked at Claudia, trying to gain her attention. “Can I play shrink for a second?”

  Claudia locked eyes with Gilda, searching for an explanation. “Shrink?”

  “Yes,” said Gilda. “I’m an amateur psychologist. I like to get inside people’s heads to better understand what makes them tick, what drives them.”

  Claudia’s frown deepened, but she shrugged. “I guess.”

  Gilda shifted on the edge of the mattress, turning her body more toward the waitress. The wiry mattress springs creaked against the movement. “I think your issues with being here, with living amongst strangers in an underground bunker, have more to do with how you feel about yourself than you do about us.”

  As soon as the words had escaped her lips, Gilda wondered if she should have said them. She was making a huge assumption about a woman she hardly knew. She held her breath while Claudia appeared to mull it over.

  Half a minute passed before the waitress nodded slowly. Claudia’s gaze was set across the room on the desk and plastic chair. It was distant, ponderous. It looked to Gilda as if Claudia saw something in her mind’s eye, but it wasn’t in this room. It was miles away, maybe in the diner, maybe in her apartment, maybe on the beach walking hand in hand with Arthur.

  “Maybe,” Claudia conceded, breaking the silence. “I’m usually the one who doubts everything, the skeptic. You wait tables long enough and you learn a lot about people. You start to expect the worst and become surprised when people are good, instead of being disappointed in them when they don’t meet expectations.”

  Claudia blinked from her reverie and turned her attention back to Gilda. She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  Gilda had the sense Claudia was holding something back, that she was talking around whatever it was that truly bothered her. She didn’t dig though. She let the woman talk.

  “I’m probably disappointed in myself,” she said. “I didn’t question anything. I saw a chance to hide and I took it. That’s not me. I thought it wasn’t, anyhow. I thought I was tougher than that. I thought I was more…hardened. I guess not.”

  “That’s introspective,” said Gilda, “and depressing.”

  The two women shared a smile and a chuckle. Claudia wiped her eyes again. She lowered her knees, stretching her legs and allowing her feet to hang off the side of the bed. She yawned and shook her head.

  “I’ll stay for now,” she said. “But not because you’re making me. Because I gotta know what’s going on out there before I leave this place.”

  “Good,” said Gilda. “I think you made the right decision. Remember, nobody is forcing you to stay here. Any of us can leave at any time.”

  Claudia nodded and Gilda pushed herself to her feet, the mattress giving way under the force of her hands. Both women straightened their clothes and said their goodbyes. Gilda reminded Claudia about dinner, adjusted her ponytail, and headed for the door.

  She turned the knob to open it and stopped when Claudia called after her. The waitress was standing now, her arms folded across her chest. Gilda, her hand still on the knob, looked over her shoulder and waited.

  “Can I ask you a weird question?” asked Claudia. She was absently scratching her arm.

  “Sure.”

  “Do you ever get the sense we’ve met before?” asked Claudia. “I mean, like we’re not really strangers?”

  Gilda took her hand off the knob and faced Gilda. She wasn’t sure how to respond. This, she was sure, was what Claudia had been holding back, what she’d danced around during their circular conversation.

  “I know it sounds crazy,” said Claudia, “but even that day at the diner I felt I knew you. I think that’s why I came here. I trusted you for some reason. You were familiar.”

  Gilda took a step back into the room. “How so?”

  Claudia glanced at the floor. “I don’t know. I just had the overwhelming sense that we’d met and that you’d helped me find safety before. It sounds stupid. I—”

  “It doesn’t sound stupid,” said Gilda. “It’s why I invited you here. You were familiar to me too.”

  Claudia was scratching both arms now. “I don’t remember you being a regular at the diner. I’m good with faces. I associate them with tips. It reminds me whether or not to go out of my way with this customer or that. I don’t have a sense about you, except that I do.”

  “I’d never been to the diner before,” said Gilda. “I’m in the area a lot. I’ve seen the place. I may have even walked inside before to get out of the heat, maybe use the restroom. It’s familiar to me. But the other day was the first time I’ve eaten there. I’d never talked to you before, I don’t think.”

  The women stared at each other. Gilda thought neither of them knew what to do with the information they’d just shared with one another. Then she went a step farther. “I felt the same way about that cook.”

  Claudia tilted her head in confusion. “Arthur?”

  Gilda shook her head. “No, the other one.”

  “Danny.”

  “Yes,” Gilda confirmed. “Danny.”

  “That’s why you asked me about him?”

  Gilda nodded. “I couldn’t place it. I still can’t. But I get these waves of déjà vu. Only they’re not déjà vu. They’re stronger than that. And sometimes they come with—”

  “Headaches,” said Claudia.

  Gilda’s eyes widened. Her pulse quickened.

  “You think it’s the disease?” asked Claudia. Her face stretched with worry, making the thin crow’s-feet that fanned out from the corners of her eyes more apparent. “The super flu that’s not a flu, I mean. Are we sick? Is it playing with our heads? Are we infected and just don’t know it yet?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Gilda. “But honestly, Claudia, I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

  CHAPTER 6

  DAY 10

  Los Angeles, California

  Danny heard his dog, Maggie, barking before he heard the knock at the door. It was more of a pounding, the kind of sound that comes from the side of a fist banging repeatedly against a cheap metal apartment door. Given the low rent of both his efficiency apartment and the neighborhood in general, he’d recently installed three slide-bar locks on its front door and a metal bar that prevented the back slider from opening.

  He was on the second floor of a three-story building. There was no elevator. Whoever came to visit had to trudge up a dank, narrow staircase that had made moving in his few belongings challenging. He was thankful the efficiency came with a Murphy bed that folded into the wall behind a pair of French doors.

  He was sitting on the bed watching the news about the spread of the disease when the knocks came. There was cell phone video from a bunch of students collapsing while awaiting treatment at UCLA. A lot of the video was blurred because the newsman, Lane Turner, had told viewers it was too disturbing to show.

  Even with the blurring, the blood was visible. The screams were audible. They were almost as loud as the incessant pounding on his door.

  “Okay,” he said. “Hang on.”

  He stomped the short distance to the door, looping his fingers inside Maggie’s collar to restrain her, and checked the peephole.

  On the other side was a warped, fish-eye view of somebody in a yellow hazmat suit. There might be more than one person, but he couldn�
��t see. One was enough to obscure anything else on the other side of his door.

  “Who is it?” he said, stepping back from the door.

  Maggie was grumbling but had stopped barking. He eyed her and she sat at his side. He let go of her collar. She was a good dog.

  “Cal Guard, sir,” came the muffled voice on the other side of the door. “We’re evacuating residents and escorting them to a secure location. Could you please open your door?”

  Maggie whimpered. Danny looked at her and put a finger to his lips. She quieted and licked her snout. He stepped back to the peephole. Yellow filled his vision.

  “What secure location?”

  “It’s secure, sir. We’re not at liberty to discuss specifics. We can say it’s in southern California and it’s a comfortable—”

  “Secure location,” interrupted Danny.

  “Yes, sir. Please open the door.”

  “Do I have to open the door?”

  “Yes.”

  Danny flexed his hands, balling them into fists before stretching his fingers. He thought about his karate lessons. He hadn’t been to the dojo in a week. He wished his sensei were there with him. He’d have a much better sense of how to handle overly aggressive Army reservists.

  Sure, the soldiers were merely doing their jobs. They were following orders. But Danny didn’t like being told to leave his home. It had happened before, when his wife left him for a Silicon Valley douchebag. She’d cheated on him and kicked him out. Then she’d sold the place and moved north to the Bay. He was stuck with the debt and an old VW he couldn’t afford to drive. If it weren’t for Maggie, a dog who’d found him as much as he’d found her, and this crappy apartment, he’d have nothing.

  He wasn’t about to give up next to nothing to a bunch of Cal Guard bullies. They’d pushed a button his ex had forged. He decided he wasn’t going with them no matter what they said.

  “Do you have a search warrant?”

  Danny knew they didn’t. He was stalling, trying to formulate some semblance of the beginnings of the start of a plan.

  Standing there and fighting them wouldn’t work. He wasn’t a black belt. He wasn’t a brown belt either. There were too many of them anyhow. Granted, he didn’t know how many of them there were. More than one would be too many. They were trained soldiers; he wasn’t. He was a fry cook.

  “The governor of California has declared martial law for the safety of all citizens,” said the voice. “We have the right to—”

  “I thought we were under a state of emergency,” said Danny, taking a step back from the door. He raised his voice to compensate for the distance. “Big difference.”

  “The threat level is elevated. We’re now under martial law. Article 1 section 9 of the Constitution of the United States allows for the suspension of habeas corpus during times of threatened public safety. If you don’t let us in, we’ll be forced to make entry through an alternative method. It won’t be pleasant for either of us.”

  There were other voices outside. They were muffled too, but they were distinct. He would be outmatched if he stayed.

  “I’d rather stay.”

  “Not an option, sir.” The voice sounded more distant, as if the speaker had moved away from the door. “Your safety is our primary concern. To ensure it, we need you to come with us to the nearest secure facility.”

  “I’d like to stay in my apartment,” said Danny. “I’m not sick and—”

  Something heavy pounded against the door, startling Danny. Maggie stood, squared her shoulders, and snarled.

  Another bang. Danny felt the vibration rattle through his body. Maggie’s snarl turned into a bark and she bared her teeth. The hair at her neck stood on end. She was equal parts frightened and angry.

  Danny glanced over one shoulder, surveying the four-hundred-square-foot space. Then he checked over the other, eyeing the bathroom and the kitchen. They were the only other two rooms in the house. He briefly considered hiding in the closet.

  He took another step away from the door as a bang bent the jamb. Another pound at the door from the outside and the dingy yellow-tinged light from the outside hallway cracked through the edges. All three of the slide bars threatened to separate from the doorjamb. Danny hadn’t done as good a job installing them as he’d thought.

  “C’mon, girl,” Danny said to Maggie and spun toward the rear of the small apartment. He glanced at the slider, but given the obstacle of the metal security bar that kept it shut, he decided instead to dart into the galley kitchen. The dog gave chase and together they made it into the cramped space before a percussive explosion told both of them the door was breached.

  Danny climbed onto the counter and slid open a window above the sink. He coaxed Maggie up and awkwardly pulled her onto the counter with him. Her rear paws slid into the stainless-steel sink. She wobbled on a stack of plates, but he steadied her before stepping through the small window and onto a Juliet balcony that framed the window on the rear of the building.

  He balanced himself against the wrought-iron railing, squeezed onto the narrow platform. He knocked a leaded glass soap dispenser from the ledge and onto the balcony at his feet.

  He called for Maggie to join him. But when she tried to leap through, a pair of men in bright yellow hazmat suits appeared in the kitchen. They shot to the sink, moving with surprising speed given the weight and design of their suits.

  “Maggie!” called Danny. “C’mon!”

  Maggie looked at him, her front paws on the window ledge, and then back at the soldiers who approached. She snarled again, barked at them, and when one tried grabbing her haunches, she spun and launched herself at him. One of the suits backed away as Maggie tore into the arm of the one who’d grabbed at her. She shook her head, jerking it violently from one side to the other with the soldier’s Tyvek-covered arm in her jaws.

  Danny called her again, but she wasn’t having it. She loosened her bite for an instant, only to chomp down again to grab a better hold. The man inside the Tyvek suit howled, and fog bloomed on his see-through plastic mask. He tried punching Maggie, but she was at an angle, her feet in the sink, and he couldn’t make a good connection.

  There were several others in the home now too. Their voices came from near the front door. Outside he could hear sirens; they were close. The whip of helicopter rotors thumped in the air above him. The rumble of large trucks that sounded more like tanks thundered beyond the apartment building’s edge.

  His neighborhood, while never a candidate for Best Places To Live, sounded and felt like a war zone now. He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

  A flash of something dark caught Danny’s attention, and he glanced away from Maggie to the second Tyvek-suited soldier who’d appeared at the sink. He or she, Danny couldn’t be sure which, was raising an arm. In the thick glove was a long black stick with two metal prongs on the end. Whatever it was, the soldier was fumbling with it, trying to activate it, turn it on, or get a better grip.

  Danny reached down and grabbed the soap dispenser at one end. With his fingers wrapped around the heavy glass, he leaned through the window, flinging it at the armed soldier’s head.

  The glass hit the soldier squarely on the face with a dense cracking sound. The soldier’s head snapped back as the soldier stumbled to one side, extending the black baton.

  The stick jabbed the soldier in Maggie’s grasp and emitted the zapping sound a bug catcher makes when electrocuting mosquitoes. The soldier began convulsing wildly.

  “Maggie!” Danny shouted.

  The dog turned towards Danny and he helped her through the opening and onto the ledge. He didn’t look back, but heard the scramble of people at the sink. “Maggie, stay!” In one fluid motion, he climbed onto the wrought-iron railing and jumped.

  It was a short fall, maybe eight feet. The building was nestled into the slope of a hill, so that the first floor was half-buried on the back side of the structure. Danny landed on both feet, spun, and called to Maggie.

  The dog paced
in the narrow space, avoiding the yellow gloved hands reaching through the window. She snapped at one, catching a finger and buying her some time. She squeezed her head through the bars at one corner of the balcony, which were wide enough for her entire body to fit between. She hedged and whimpered.

  “C’mon, girl,” Danny urged. He held out his hands as if to catch her. “Now, Maggie. C’mon!”

  The dog stepped back, then forward again. A yellow, masked head poked through the window, then the torso followed.

  “Now, Mag—”

  The dog jumped and hit Danny square in the chest, sending them both tumbling to the asphalt. Danny’s head snapped back and knocked against the rough, hard surface. White bursts of light sparked in his vision, but he kept his wits about him and scrambled to his feet. He slapped his thigh, ignored the sharp pain at the crown of his head, and the two of them ran away from the building they’d called home.

  Danny had no sense of how long it might be before they’d be back, but he wasn’t thinking about that at the moment. He was trying to put as much distance between himself and the soldiers calling after him as he could.

  He ran along familiar streets that suddenly seemed foreign. He stuck close to the buildings, ducking into shadows where he could.

  Maggie kept pace, her tongue wagging from the side of her snout. She looked happy. Running always made her happy. And this time she wasn’t constrained by a leash.

  Danny thought about what the men had said about martial law. Was the sickness that bad? Were that many people dying? The news hadn’t made it sound so dire. Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe the government didn’t want them knowing. Instead, they chose to sneak up on unsuspecting, healthy people and take them into custody.

  Secure facility? What secure facility? It sounded to Danny more like a quarantine or something. He wasn’t one for conspiracies, but this sure felt like one. Then again, he was a divorced fry cook with a prepaid cell phone. Who was he to know anything about anything?