by Bobby Adair
I looked around at the infected nearby. They were either rummaging through bloody scraps or focused on the sound of gunshots coming from the hospital.
Murphy jumped into the Humvee’s driver’s seat. I got in on the passenger side.
Murphy looked at me. “It’s do or die now, buddy. You sure you wanna do this?”
I shrugged. “You know, in this armored Humvee, we can probably drive around here a bit and maybe draw some of the infected away from the hospital. You know, give Steph and the others a chance.”
Murphy shook his head, but didn’t look at me. Without a word, he slammed his door shut, catching the attention of all the nearby infected.
“Damn.” I quickly yanked my door shut as Murphy waited for the glow plugs in the diesel engine to warm up.
Whites ran at us from all directions.
Murphy cranked the starter. As soon as the engine fired, Murphy floored the accelerator and we sluggishly accelerated away from the hospital.
I’d have been a lot happier if heavy beast of a Humvee was quicker.
We ran over one bump, then another. I knew what those bumps were, but put the thought of it out of my mind and focused on the clear pavement ahead.
The Humvee shuddered with the impact of an infected body running into the side at full speed. A few found a grip on the rear and were trying to climb on. The infected on the side slid away as Murphy pushed the truck to go faster.
When we hit clear asphalt, Murphy ran the Humvee up past forty and said, “Null Spot. Heh, heh, heh.”
“What’s that even supposed to mean?” I asked. “Null Spot.”
“You’re all kind of whited out, man,” he said. “It’s like you’re not there. Like a spot with nothing in it. Null Spot.” Murphy’s big laugh filled the vehicle.
“Whatever,” I muttered and looked out the window.
“Null Spot.” He laughed again. “You and your stupid superhero shit. Man, did you watch too many Star Wars movies as a kid, or what?”
I said, “I just thought we might be able to help them, that’s all.”
Murphy changed the subject with a hard swerve. The Humvee almost hit a curb. At the last second, Murphy angled back for the center of the street.
“What the fuck, man?”
Murphy said, “Dude, did you see that?”
“What?”
“That White was right in front of me and he jumped out of the way. So I tried to get him anyway.” He laughed again.
“Maybe he was smarter than the others,” I suggested
Murphy cocked his head as if giving that some thought.
I said, “Maybe he did it on purpose.”
Murphy smiled and looked over at me. “My mom always said, ‘Never trust Whitey.’”
Shaking my head, I asked, “Does anybody actually think you’re funny?”
“Everybody but you.” More grins.
“Did she really tell you that?” I asked.
“No, man, I’m just fuckin’ with ya.” Without warning, Murphy slammed the brakes hard. The Humvee skidded to a stop. He threw the transmission into reverse and mashed the accelerator to the floor.
“God damn,” I shouted. “You drive like shit.” I pushed myself away from the dashboard and back into my seat.
“That bridge over the highway back there was clear,” he said, pointing out my window. “I think we can get across.”
The infected were swarming up behind us. “Hurry.”
The brakes locked. Tires skidded again. More infected pounced on the Humvee.
I looked back and saw hands, elbows, and screaming mouths. “Shit.”
“Don’t worry, man,” Murphy told me over my cursing. “They can’t get inside.” Murphy turned the Humvee and maneuvered between the cars on the road leading to the bridge.
The infected beat loudly on the roof.
Murphy looked over at me, then laughed again. He was having too much fun. He slammed the brakes hard and a body rolled off the roof and down over the hood just as he pushed the accelerator again. The Humvee bounced over the body. We crossed over the bridge.
“I’ll get the others off on the next turn.”
Chapter 6
The further we rolled into east Austin, the thicker the smoke got and the fewer infected we saw. Those that we did see were headed away. Our hitchhikers chose to join them. They were all brain-fried monsters, but they still knew enough to fear the fires that were burning their way across the eastern half of the city.
My phone buzzed and I gave it a look to see who was calling. It was a text message from Amber. I smiled.
Murphy said, “Man, you’re worse than a teenager.”
“It’s Amber.”
“She was the cute one, right?”
I shrugged.
“How many women is that?” Murphy teased. “Player Zed.”
I ignored him.
Amber: Are you there, Zed?
Me: Yup. What’s up?
Amber: Are you at Murphy’s mom’s house?
Me: No. We got hung up.
Amber: Anything bad?
“Dude, Amber just asked me if anything bad happened.”
“What’d you say?” he asked.
Raising my eyebrows, I said, “Nothing yet.”
“No point in sugarcoating it,” he said. “I have a feeling we all need to get used to bad news.”
Me: Jerome got shot.
Amber: Oh no. Bad?
Me: He’s dead.
No response.
Me: How are things there? You guys sitting tight? Any news?
Amber: Tense : (
Me: What happened?
Amber: One of the guys, Darren, I think, is infected.
Me: How do you know for sure?
Amber: He was lethargic for a while after you left. Nobody thought much of it but then he started acting weird. Now we think he’s infected.
Me: Did you take his temperature?
Amber: We don’t have a thermometer. They locked him in one of the dorm rooms. After they locked him in he screamed crazy gibberish for a while. He’s quiet now. Mark is sure he’s infected. But he has a gift for certainty.
Me: Those kind of people worry me.
Amber: Me too.
Me: Maybe Darren couldn’t take it all and just went nuts. Maybe all he needs is a Valium.
Amber: Mark wants to shoot him but nobody wants to open the door and go in. Wilkins is against that but again, nobody except Wilkins wants to open the door to find out for sure. Every time Wilkins brings it up, Mark goes ballistic.
Me: Not good.
Amber: I think Mark is really insecure. I don’t think he’s handling all of this very well. I think he and Wilkins are going to have it out at some point.
Me: Why do you say that?
Amber: It’s like every time they talk, Mark seems less respectful, more assertive. He doesn’t want to be a team player. He wants to be in charge.
Me: What did he say, exactly?
Amber: Mostly it’s subtle stuff. Maybe I’m wrong. I’m just worried.
Me: I don’t know what to say.
Amber: You don’t have to say anything. I’m just telling you because I need somebody to talk to.
Me: What about Marcy and Felicity?
Amber: Felicity has been sleeping on the couch in the lounge most of the afternoon.
Me: She’s not infected, is she?
Amber: No, she’s just tired. Marcy is following Mark around like she’s a puppy. I’m embarrassed for her.
Me: Sounds like junior high for grown-ups. I’m almost glad we got evicted.
Amber: Except for Jerome, I guess.
Me. Yeah.
Amber: Yeah.
Me: Well, like I said before. Wilkins is a good guy. He’ll keep it all under control.
Amber: I hope.
Me: Can you do me a favor if you’re not doing anything else?
Amber: You saved my life. You know I will.
Me: You know that stuff I talked about? That
stuff about downloading whatever we could about farming, and solar power, you know, anything about how things work, or how to treat people when they’re sick. Anything about survival.
Amber: Yeah.
Me: Could you download as much as you can from the internet, please?
Amber: Sure. I’ve got a 64 gig flash drive. I can save it there. How will I get it to you?
Me: We’ll work something out. I’ll talk to you later on, okay?
Amber: Okay. Bye.
Murphy said, “Man, don’t look so down. What’s going on over there?”
I told Murphy about the conversation.
Chapter 7
The smoke thickened and reduced visibility down to several car lengths. The air got hard to breathe. Nothing was moving anywhere.
“The fire must be close,” I said.
“Yeah,” Murphy agreed.
“Do you know where we are?” I asked.
“More or less.” He shrugged. I didn’t feel the confidence.
I said, “It seems like we’re headed right for the fire.”
Murphy shrugged again. “I’m just looking for a wide street to head north again.”
“Okay,” I said tentatively. “I don’t think I want to get roasted or suffocated.”
“I hear you, man.”
A few minutes later, Murphy made a slow left turn onto a wide, car-strewn boulevard.
“Murphy, what are we going to do after we find your mom’s house?”
“Well, I’m not going to be your superhero sidekick if that’s what you’re going to ask me, Null Spot.” He laughed. He found that Null Spot thing really funny. He always found himself funny.
“Whatever.”
Murphy glanced over at me and said, “So, tell me about this peaches and cream world that you grew up in that made you wanna go and help everybody. It’s like you’re a Boy Scout trying to earn that merit badge you missed out on when you were fifteen.” Murphy laughed again.
“Not even close,” I told him. “I was never a Boy Scout. We spent all of our time at church.”
“You didn’t ride a bicycle around to people’s houses did you?”
I shook my head. “Definitely not. I never really bought into any of it.”
“I’ll bet your parents didn’t dig that,” he said. “Did they know?”
“Oh, yeah,” I answered. “I told them.”
“What’d they do about it?”
“My stepdad thought he could beat the Jesus into me.” I said in a matter-of-fact tone. I liked to tell myself it didn’t bother me.
“How’d that turn out?” Murphy asked, seriously for a change.
“Just like you’d expect,” I answered.
“I heard that, man. So, no brothers? No sisters?”
“Nope, just me,” I said. “My real dad has family around town. I never met any of them. My mom hated them all.”
“Your folks sound like real nice people.”
I shrugged.
Murphy said, “So you’re more of a Batman superhero, then.”
“What?”
“You know,” he said, nodding emphatically. “Childhood trauma makes you want to go out and do good in the world.”
I ignored Murphy and looked out the window into a dim gray bubble a few hundred feet wide. Nothing moved. Nothing attacked. Abandoned cars littered the road. Human remains lay here and there. Doors on houses hung open. Windows were smashed. Human clutter littered the streets, lawns, and parking lots.
Everything had changed so fast.
I wondered if each of those houses had their dead owners inside. I wondered if the occupants became infected and went rampaging into West Austin to kill and kill and kill. I wondered how many children’s bodies were lying under their beds or in their closets.
Those kids never knew that evil found you wherever you hid. Running and fighting were your only real choices.
I was getting depressed.
That was an emotional indulgence I couldn’t afford.
The Ogre and the Harpy.
Breathe.
Move ahead.
Suck it up and don’t be a pussy.
We passed through a flashing red light at a large intersection.
“I know where we are now,” I said.
“Yeah. If we’re lucky, it’ll be smoky when we get to my mom’s house and we won’t have a swarm of the infected on us.”
“If they’re not there, then what?” I asked.
“My mom and sister?” Murphy asked, clarifying my question.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know,” Murphy answered.
“Do you have other family around?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah, man,” he said. “Aunts, uncles, cousins. Most live close by. My mom is pretty tight with my uncle. He lives a few blocks over. She could be at his house. Who knows?”
“I assume you tried calling him.”
“Yeah. I tried calling everybody.” Murphy sounded irritated by my question. His face sagged a little. He looked much older without his smile.
“Your family means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” I asked. It was obviously true. But I thought Murphy might need some urging to talk about it.
“Yeah.”
Looking around at the impenetrable gray, I said, “With all the smoke chasing the infected away, we can probably check all of your relatives’ houses.”
With no enthusiasm, Murphy said, “Null Spot rides again.”
I ignored the comment. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find somebody.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Chapter 8
What little I could see of Murphy’s neighborhood through the smoke didn’t bode well. Bodies of the dead infected were scattered everywhere. Car windows were smashed. The small old houses had belched their contents and dead occupants out onto the lawns.
Under the boughs of the grand old oaks that had shaded the streets for decades, Murphy’s neighbors had fought the infected, and the guns they used to defend themselves drew more infected in. It was a difficult first lesson to survive through. Dried blood, torn clothes, and gnawed bones marked the places where men, women, and their kids had learned that lesson too late.
In spite of the body count, I saw no firearms among the dead. Someone had lived through the battle. The area had been scavenged. That was a hopeful sign.
Murphy stopped the Humvee by the curb in front of a house that looked like all the rest. Through the thickening smoke, I could barely see the front door.
Murphy turned to me with his mouth in a resolute crease. “You can stay here if you want. You don’t have to come in.”
I simply said, “We’re in this together.”
Without another word, Murphy opened his door and climbed out. I did the same.
When I came around the back of the vehicle, Murphy was halfway across the front lawn.
I hurried my pace.
The front door was ajar. Murphy cautiously pushed it open as I came up to watch his back.
I checked our flanks, a lesson I learned from watching the soldiers die on the quad by the dorm. They didn’t understand their adversary. They got sloppy and they paid for their mistakes in the only currency this altered world seemed content to accept. Blood.
Murphy stepped into the house. He was tense. He was tentative.
He feared what he might find.
His breathing was ragged, but we hadn’t exerted ourselves. His smile, a dam that held back a river of emotions, crumbled in the flood.
I paused halfway in and listened. A noise was coming from somewhere inside. I didn’t know where, but I guessed what.
Murphy crossed the living room and leaned into the kitchen as I closed the front door behind me.
The furnishings were thirty years out of fashion and worn. The carpet was its own kind of ugly.
A wall covered with framed photos chronicled the lives of Murphy and his sister. Murphy as a Boy Scout. Murphy as a football player. A younger, thinner Murphy standing proud and stern in a cris
p Army uniform.
Murphy’s sister, sitting on a pony at a young age. Pirouetting as a third grader at a dance recital. The camera caught her, clad in a cheerleader’s uniform, high in the air in a gymnastic bounce. Her wearing a cap and gown with a big grin in two separate photos from two different graduations.
Murphy’s mom was in some of the pictures, arms around the kids, always smiling. No picture of any father, anywhere.
Murphy’s mother and sister came to life on that wall even as their deaths were about to be confirmed.
Murphy looked back at me, his face taut, and his jaw clenched. He shook his head.
The kitchen was empty.
I followed him across the living room to the hall.
The sound was louder. Just as I became certain what it was, Murphy bolted up the hall. He must have figured it out as well.
It was the infected.
I hurried to follow.
A closed bedroom door at the end of the hall proved no obstacle for Murphy’s momentum. It cracked and splintered. Hinge screws ripped through wood as Murphy’s wrath exploded into the room.
Murphy’s fury found voice in a primordial scream that was seconded only to the shots exploding from his rifle.
The house fell suddenly silent.
The ugly business in that room was finished. Only sorrow and rage remained.
In the hall, I froze in my footsteps.
In that room, heavy feet pounded the wooden floor. Furniture bounced against walls. Trinkets shattered. A beast fought with its grief.
I wondered, was Murphy’s smile dying while I listened, while I cringed? Would he now wear the frown of the emotionally damaged, the same one worn now by so many?
There was too much emotion in that room for me to enter the fray. I’d rather face the infected. I withdrew past the only other door off the hall. It was also closed. If something was inside, I’d know soon enough.
I took up a position in the living room at the entrance to the hall. From there, I could see the front door, the back door, and of course, the hall. Nothing moved.
Moments later, Murphy burst from the room with a grimace on his face and tears in his eyes.
I looked toward the second hall door, and in the time it took me to focus my attention there, Murphy crossed the distance and smashed through it.
Half in the hall and half in the room; Murphy looked back and forth across it several times and then froze.
