The Alt Apocalypse (Book 4): Affliction

by Abrahams, Tom

  His words were slurred and dipped in thick, stringy spittle. He blinked again and squinted at Dub. “You crying?” He shoved a pillow against the wall and shifted on his bed, pivoting his body so he could lean his back against it. His eyes never left Dub’s.

  Dub glanced away. He swallowed hard. He couldn’t say the words. He couldn’t tell him they were in a room with two dead people—two dead people who were their closest friends.

  Barker adjusted the pillow behind his back. He coughed into his balled fist and winced.

  “Geesh, that hurts,” he said. Then he cursed and cleared his throat.

  Dub’s vision blurred. His chest fluttered and heaved. He tried catching his breath but couldn’t. This wasn’t from TBE. Tears poured from his eyes and streaked down his cheeks. His nose filled; his chest tightened.

  Barker shot a glance past Dub at his bunk. He scanned the bed and his face contorted with horror. His chin quivered. His eyes blinked rapidly, fighting the tears that came. He shook his head, denying the truth.

  Understanding that Barker had seen Keri’s lifeless body, Dub nodded slowly. Without thinking about it, his own eyes drifted up to the bunk above Barker.

  Barker’s shoulders sank, shuddering. He drew his hands to his face and tugged at his sallow skin, running his clawed fingers across his scalp. Still on the verge of hyperventilating, Dub crawled to Barker’s bunk and climbed in next to him. The two college friends, two survivors, wrapped their arms around each other and sobbed. For the better part of an hour neither of them said anything.

  Then Barker climbed from the bunk and checked on each of his deceased friends. He was holding Keri’s hand when he asked, “What do we do with them? We need to tell their parents. We have to tell someone.”

  Dub motioned at his phone, which was still on the floor. “I tried all sorts of numbers. I can’t get through.”

  “Did you try texting?” asked Barker. “Sometimes texting works when phone calls don’t. They use less bandwidth.”

  Dub nodded. “Good idea.”

  He slid from Barker’s bed and grabbed his phone. He selected his contacts list and tapped out the first few letters of the entry for Keri’s father, Bob. He was a mechanic in New Orleans, a tough father of three women who loved his family more than anything.

  Dub hit the message icon and started typing his short missive, his thumbs dancing across the screen.

  Mr. Monk, this is Dub. I’m with Keri. I tried calling. I can’t get through. We are all sick. I know Keri told you she had a fever.

  Dub’s thumbs hovered above the virtual keyboard on the phone’s screen. He glanced up at Barker. “I don’t know how to do this,” he said. “How do I tell him she’s…?”

  “Don’t yet,” said Barker. “Send what you’ve got and wait for a response.”

  Dub nodded and hit send. The completion bar at the top of the screen moved from right to left and stopped before completion. Then it sprinted to the edge of the screen and disappeared. The message was sent.

  Immediately, text bubbles appeared on the left bottom edge of the display. Bob was responding. Sweat beaded on Dub’s forehead. The phone trembled in his hands.

  Hi Dub. Good to hear from you. Been trying to call her. Can’t get through. Everything okay? She getting better? It sounds horrible there. Two cases at the airport here. Nothing big yet. They’ve got the cruise terminal shut down.

  “What did he say?” asked Barker, his eyes dancing between the screen and Dub’s face. “What did he say?”

  Dub read the text aloud. The words didn’t come easy. He choked on them twice.

  Barker sat down in Dub’s chair, which was underneath the lofted bunk that now served as little more than a catafalque for Keri’s body. There were clothes and towels draped across its back. Barker leaned on them and exhaled, his wheezy breath rattling in his chest.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” said Barker. “There’s no easy way to do this. There’s no right way to tell him.”

  Dub bit the inside of his cheek and started typing again on the screen. His fingers ached as he tapped out each letter of the new text.

  I don’t know how to tell you this. I wish I could do it in person. I wish I could talk to you. But I can’t. Keri has passed away.

  He pressed send and then kept typing before Bob could respond. His thumbs moved faster now. No text bubble yet.

  I loved her, Mr. Monk. I really did. I wish I could have taken better care of her.

  He hit send and typed more. The words came more easily now. Still, no responding bubble from Bob Monk.

  She is here in my room. I will leave her here so that when this is over, she can have the burial she deserves. I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.

  Dub hit send for the final time. He looked away from the screen and at Barker. His friend’s hair was a mess. His skin was almost translucent; his eyes were reddened, the skin around them swollen. But he was alive. That was something.

  “I need to text Michael’s mom,” said Dub. “She needs to know.”

  “She’s in North Carolina?” asked Barker, it was as much an affirmation as it was a question. “Wilmington?”

  Dub nodded. He found her contact information in his phone and opened a new message screen.

  Mrs. Turner, this is Dub Hampton, Michael’s roommate. I’m writing to you about his illness. I think he told you he was sick. It was either yesterday or the day before.

  He pressed send and waited for her response. He didn’t know how long it might be. If what Michael had told them was true, she and his dad were always busy. When they weren’t at work, or traveling for work, they were out. They were on their boat. They were playing tennis. They didn’t do much with Michael and from the time of his early childhood had left him to his own devices.

  While he awaited a response from Michael’s mother, a text notification flashed at the top of his screen, accompanied by a buzzing vibration. It was from Bob Monk. A second notification appeared on the screen before he could tap the first.

  I don’t understand. I tried calling you at this number. I can’t get through. I tried Keri’s phone. I tried the campus switchboard. I need to talk to you. This doesn’t make sense.

  Dub read the message silently, then aloud to Barker. Then he read the second message.

  How could she be dead? She just talked to us two days ago. She texted us yesterday. I don’t understand. Her mother is beside herself. Please explain.

  “You did explain,” said Barker. “What do they want?”

  “I don’t know.” Dub tapped the screen and started thumbing a new message. “I think I just need to be straightforward.”

  She is dead. She is in my room. She got worse and worse. Less than an hour ago she wasn’t breathing. Her heart stopped. I tried CPR. I tried mouth-to-mouth. I tried 911. Nothing worked. She is dead. My roommate Michael is also dead.

  He hit send. “I hate doing this,” he said through his teeth. He felt tightness in his chest and he coughed. “I’m not good at this.”

  “Nobody is good at this,” Barker said reassuringly. He was sweating again, a sheen of perspiration coating his forehead, cheeks, and the sides of his neck. His fever was breaking.

  A new message appeared at the top of Dub’s screen. Michael’s mother.

  Hi Dub. Thanks for the update. Hope everyone is getting better. Give Michael my love.

  Dub read the message three times before he shared it with Barker. “Is she that clueless?” asked Dub. “Michael said they were detached, but this…” He held up the phone and shook it. Another message vibrated.

  Barker shrugged and coughed, winced. “Maybe she’s in denial,” he said. “Or maybe she’s clueless.”

  The newest message was from Bob Monk. It was lengthy. Dub read it aloud rather than suffer through it more than once.

  It doesn’t make sense to us, Dub. How could she be dead? She was healthy last week. She is an athlete. She’s in great shape. Are you sure she’s not breathing? You’re not a doctor. Can you get a
doctor? There has to be someone who knows whether or not she is breathing. I’m trying to come there, but my wife can’t find flights right now. I might drive. But you can’t be sure she’s dead. Also, weren’t you sick first? How is she dead and you’re not?

  “Holy crap,” said Barker.

  “I’ve got to reply to Michael’s mom,” said Dub. “I don’t know what to say to Keri’s dad. I need a second. Can you think of something?”

  Barker didn’t say anything. He leaned his chin on the towel folded over the back of the chair.

  Dub thumbed a new message.

  Mrs. Turner. Michael is not okay. He got very sick. He had a seizure. I tried to help him. He stopped breathing. His heart stopped. I could not save him. He has passed away. I am so sorry.

  The phone buzzed again. Bob Monk.

  I’m looking at the news. They say only half the people die. Half the people live. How could Keri be dead? It doesn’t make sense, Dub. I’m driving there now. Please get Keri to a doctor. Get someone who knows what they’re doing.

  Dub started to respond but didn’t. There was nothing more he could say at the moment. Keri’s dad would be on the road for two days, or three, or more. It was close to nineteen hundred miles, and it was a pretty safe assumption that once he reached Arizona, he’d run into problems. Still, he started to tell Barker what the message said, looking for affirmation that he shouldn’t reply instantly. He was halfway through reading it aloud when there was a heavy knock at their door.

  A second, more urgent knock reverberated against the metal. Dub stood up and crossed the room slowly, motioning for Barker to stay where he was. With his phone in one hand, he placed his ear to the door and listened. Another series of insistent knocks shook him from the threshold, and he backed up a step. His phone vibrated. He ignored it.

  “Who is it?” he asked.

  A woman’s voice answered. “Is Barker there?”

  The voice was familiar. Dub knew it but couldn’t place it, couldn’t put a face to it. He glanced back at Barker, who shrugged.

  “Who is it?” Dub repeated.

  “It’s Gem. Is Barker there?”

  Dub’s phone vibrated again. He ignored it again. “Hang on.”

  “C’mon,” she whined, pounding against the door again. “There are dead bodies out here. Could you please let me in? I’m not sick.”

  Barker motioned for Dub to open the door. Dub held up a finger in hesitation.

  “I saw you in line at the infirmary the other day,” he said. “How do we know you’re not infected? Why were you at the infirmary if you weren’t infected?”

  Dub didn’t so much care about her illness as far as contagion was concerned. He was on the mend and assumed Barker was too. But he couldn’t nurse another person, not with how weak he still felt, how little food they had in their room, and given that there were two dead people already in their beds.

  “I’m not sick,” Gem insisted. “If I were sick, there’s no freaking way I could have crossed campus from Hilgard and climbed the hill. No way. Seriously, dude. If Barker is there, let me in.”

  “I heard you coughing,” said Dub. “You were in line and you were coughing. You were sick.”

  “I was,” she said. “I’m not now. I’m over it. I’m fine.”

  Dub checked over his shoulder with Barker. Barker shrugged again and mouthed, “Let her in.”

  Dub unlocked the door and pulled it toward him. Standing in the hall was the woman he remembered from the line outside the health center. She was wearing the same clothes, or similar clothes. Denim overall shorts were hooked over both shoulders and covering a long oversized UCLA T-shirt. Her hair was braided but frayed. Her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. There was dark mascara at the corners and streaked on her cheeks.

  She looked at Dub, past him to Barker, and back again. Dub stood there blocking her entrance.

  “Can I come in?” she pressed.

  Dub nodded and stepped aside. The phone in his hand buzzed.

  Gem crossed the room to Barker and threw her arms around him. She stood on her tiptoes, holding him tightly. He stood with his arms caught at his sides and off balance. He put one hand on the small of her back.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said. She kissed his cheek and put her hands on the sides of his face. “You’re clammy. You’ve been sweating.”

  “You’ve been crying,” he said.

  Gem, seemingly oblivious to the two dead bodies in the room, told him she had been. Half of her sorority sisters were dead, and the rest were sick. Although some of them were recovering, some of them probably wouldn’t.

  “I thought you two broke up,” said Dub. He was still standing at the door.

  “We did,” said Barker. “We’re back together.”

  “We’ve been back together,” Gem corrected. “He’d hooked up with my sorority sister, Becca. It was before we’d ever dated or started talking or anything. But I was jealous. I broke up with him. I got over it. Becca said she wasn’t into him. It’s all good.”

  “How’s Becca?” asked Barker. “Is she sick?”

  “No. Well, I don’t know,” Gem said. “She went home before everybody got sick. I haven’t seen her. I don’t think she’s coming back.”

  Barker coughed into the crook of his elbow. He stepped back from Gem, bumping into the chair. “How did you get over here?”

  “I didn’t hear from you,” she said. “You didn’t respond to my texts. I couldn’t get through on my phone. So I…”

  Gem stopped talking. Her mouth remained open, slack-jawed. Her eyes narrowed and then widened. Dub realized she wasn’t looking at Barker anymore.

  She drew her hands to her mouth and suppressed a squealing cry. She backed away from Barker, shaking her head. Then she pointed at the bunk behind him. Her finger was wagging at Keri.

  “Is that…is she…who…what—” she stammered.

  “That’s Keri,” Dub said flatly. “She died an hour ago. Could be two hours. I’m not sure.”

  She stood there blinking back tears. Dub wasn’t sure what to make of it. She’d crossed the campus, seeing countless dead or dying people. She’d witnessed half of her sorority sisters die. But she was emotional about a woman Dub was certain she’d never met.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just…it’s that…I didn’t expect that. You didn’t say there was a dead person in here. I didn’t know.”

  Dub motioned toward the bunk behind her and Michael’s body. “There are two dead bodies. Our roommate Michael is gone too. He had a seizure right after I tried to save Keri.”

  Gem spun around and backed into Barker. He put his hands on her shoulders. She drew hers to her face again and stared at the top bunk. Her chin quivered and tears streaked down her cheeks. “Michael?” she said, a bubble of spit forming in her mouth. “Poor Michael. I loved Michael. He was so sweet.”

  “You knew him?” Dub asked. There was a sharpness in his voice he hadn’t intended, but he didn’t like this virtual stranger invading his space, coming into what had become a place of mourning, and acting as if she belonged here. His body tensed, his aching muscles reminding him he was still recovering.

  Barker and Gem exchanged glances. Barker stepped toward Dub. Dub’s phone buzzed again. He squeezed it in his hand but didn’t check the message.

  “It’s okay, man,” Barker said. “She’s cool, okay? She knew Michael. We’d go hit up B Plate sometimes. She’d swipe in both of us and pay for our meals.”

  “Sometimes?” asked Dub. “As in more than once?”

  Barker nodded. “Yeah. A bunch.”

  “How did I not know this?” Dub snapped. Again, he didn’t intend to bite. But he did. Anger was setting up camp. “Where was I? What was I doing when you were at B Plate?”

  Barker swallowed. His Adam’s apple slid up and down in his throat. One hand was holding Gem’s and the other ran through his wild hair. He stopped at his crown and scratched nervously. “You were with Keri,” he said. “You t
wo were in the library or working out or at Santa Monica Pier.”

  Santa Monica Pier. An image flashed in Dub’s mind. He was with Keri. They were playing Skee-Ball in the arcade. A memory—was it a memory?—crystalized. He could see it as if it had been yesterday. He could smell the briny Pacific air. He was there on the pier.

  He’d felt a rumble in his legs. Initially, he’d blown it off as the ambient environment. But Keri had changed his mind when she’d touched him on the shoulder.

  “Did you feel that?” she’d said. “I felt something.”

  “Like a wave?” he’d asked. He’d been focused on the wooden ball in his hand and the concentric circles at the end of the ramp in front of him. He’d stooped, flicked his wrist, and rolled the ball toward the circles. The ball had accelerated, launched into the air at the end of the ramp, and rattled into a hole marked 30.

  Dub had grunted and said, “Or an earthquake?”

  She’d shaken her head. “No, like an explosion.”

  The memory dissolved as quickly as it had materialized, and Dub was back in his dorm room. Keri and Michael were dead. Barker and Gem stood in front of him, both of them sharing the unmistakable softened gaze of pity.

  “Oh,” said Dub. “Sorry. Excuse me, I’ve got to use the restroom.”

  He turned without saying anything else or waiting for a reply and stepped into the bathroom their dorm shared with the triple next door. He hadn’t seen any of those guys since the outbreak.

  He shut the door behind him and leaned against the counter. His phone in his palm, he held it up and used the biometric scanner to unlock the device. The screen glowed to life and Dub saw he had several messages from Bob Monk and from Mrs. Turner.

  He opened the message from Monk first. It was a series of short texts, one after the other.

  I’m on my way. I should be there in a day and a half. GPS says it’s a straight shot on I-10. Not stopping for anything but gas. Tell Keri I’m coming. Tell her Dad is on his way. I’ll be there soon. Already making good time.

  Dub read the fifth and sixth texts over and over again. Bob Monk was in denial. There was no talking him down or changing his mind. Keri was alive as far as he was concerned, and he was coming to save her.