With that wound dealt with, at least for now, she looked at the broken bone that stuck out of his lower leg. It needed to be set, then braced with a splint. She gently set his leg on the floor, then slid backwards on her butt before leaning to one side and placing a foot under her so she could rise to her feet.
As she did, she felt waves of weariness run through her. Every muscle in her body felt sore, overused, and in some cases, overextended. She needed rest, food, and water.
Determined, Celia moved her feet, working her way across the large lobby area of the building, looking for something that could be used as a splint. She settled on a wooden chair. Grabbing it, she held the top of it, lifted it high over her head, and slammed it onto the marble floor. It broke apart with a large crack, falling to pieces on the polished surface. Grabbing two that would serve her purpose, she returned to Ben, knelt beside him, and looked at the broken bone.
‘Okay,’ she thought, ‘it needs to be set. That’s what doctors say, right?’ She nodded, extending her hands towards the damaged bone.
‘How the hell do I do that?’
Staring at her boyfriend’s leg, she figured she couldn’t simply push the bone back in place. That would likely do more damage. She decided that if she could pull the leg downward, elongating it slightly, maybe the bone would return to its natural position. Having no better idea, she decided to try it. She lifted her legs, scooted her butt closer to him, and lowered her legs onto the upper part of his right leg, pinning it in place. Leaning over she grabbed hold of his foot and pushed it away from his body, extending his lower leg.
“Unnhhhhh…..”
“It’s okay, baby, just hang in there,” she said softly, trying to comfort him through what she knew had to be immense pain. She pushed harder on his foot, watching as the exposed end of the bone aligned with the opening of the wound then began disappearing as it slid back down into the leg.
“UNNHHHHHH!”” Ben’s head thrashed back and forth against the wall.
“Almost, baby, almost! Just a bit more, I promise!”
She felt a strange vibration inside his leg as the bone fell into place, almost like a clunk.
‘I can’t believe that worked.’
Ever so slowly, she released pressure on his foot, afraid that any sudden movement would push the bone back out through the opening. When her hands finally let go and the bone remained in place, she breathed a huge sigh of relief.
‘Okay, now splint.’ She quickly grabbed the two pieces of wood, set them on either side of his leg, then used three strips of cloth to tie them in place at the top, middle, and bottom of the lengths of wood.
She sat up and examined her work. The knots were sloppy, but would hold. The wood was longer on the inside than the outside, but the two pieces would keep the bone immobile. For someone who had no idea what she was doing, she’d done a pretty damn good job, she decided.
Suddenly finished with caring for Ben, she exhaled loudly, feeling a sense of accomplishment. She’d done her best. She’d gotten him to safety, killed one (probably two) of the infected on the way, then tended to his wounds.
And now she felt exhaustion taking over her.
Sliding up to where her boyfriend leaned against the wall, she propped herself up next to him, then used her hands to guide his head to her shoulder so that he could rest.
“Just rest, baby,” she said softly, closing her eyes. Her bones felt a deep weariness that three days on the road had driven into them long before their escape from the car.
Only a week and a half ago, things had seemed so normal.
Borderline perfect.
Though she’d been worried that Ben’s family would have an issue with her race, she’d been relieved and, well, ecstatic to find out that not only did they not care about her Mexican ethnicity, they thought the world of her.
A family dinner in the late summer.
Holidays together after that.
An engagement party in the spring.
Her graduation from the University of Memphis.
Then, the outbreak.
Like everywhere else, things went bad in a hurry. After spending four days holed up in their shared apartment (which Ben’s parents had surprisingly also been okay with), Ben convinced her they’d be better off getting out of the city while they still could. They’d make their way to his family’s home in Clarksville, Tennessee, which was northwest of Nashville. Though he’d been unable to get through to them by phone, he was sure their remote location and the property’s barriers and security system would have ensured his family’s safety.
Reports of a damaged bridge on State Route 79 forced them to take the I-40 towards Nashville instead of the direct route to Clarksville, but they remained determined. They drove nearly ten hours that day, making it halfway to Nashville before stopping for the night under a large tree several miles from the highway. The drive had been slow and tough, and the things they’d seen tested both their faith in God and their intestinal fortitude, but they’d made it.
The next day had seen them make it to Nashville, where, because of the city’s larger size and much more extensive fire and police services, they expected things to be better.
They were not.
They were far, far worse.
Which led to Ben being bitten by one of the infected.
They’d been forced off the I-40 on the outskirts of the city, near a place called Sylvan Park. Using his extensive knowledge of the area, Ben guided them to State Route 156, which would take them north, along the edge of the urban areas and towards I-24. The I-24 would get them to Clarksville.
Seeing the sun setting in the sky, it was clear they wouldn’t make it that day, but they felt confident they’d make the next.
Hungry and tired, Ben decided to take a chance and pull off at a small gas station/convenience store along the route. Pulling into the small parking lot, they saw the lights on inside the store, which they considered to be a good sign. Ben drove the car around to the side of the small building, parking near the door to the bathroom.
“Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone,” he said, shrugging.
The two of them got out of the car slowly, looking everywhere for signs of trouble as they met on the sidewalk near the building. To Celia’s shock and instant approval, Ben pulled a pistol from the back of his pants, checked it, then returned it to its previous location before pulling his shirt down to conceal it.
Looking at him questioningly, wearing a smile the whole time, Celia raised her eyebrows.
Ben shrugged again. “I’ve had it for years. My pops made me learn to shoot when I was ten, then gave me this when I turned sixteen.”
Celia smiled. “I think it’s great.”
Ben led her to the door of the convenience store, then led the way inside.The place was a mess, putting them instantly on the defense. They crept through the store, first checking behind the counter by the cash register, where they found a young white teenager face down in a pool of blood. Moving on, they found a heavyset white trucker with a thick moustache lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. His stomach had been torn apart, revealing shredded entrails that flowed down from either side of his body.
Telling Celia to look away, Ben stepped past the man, moving past the glass doors of the refrigerated section as he angled towards the back of the building.
Glass exploded outward as a thin white man with a mullet and sunburnt arms burst through one of the doors, knocking Ben sideways into the shelving that held the store’s selection of packaged donuts and baked goods. As Celia began to scream, the man’s fists rained down on Ben, pummeling him repeatedly. Dazed from the impact, Ben raised an arm in defense, blocking some of the blows, but the man knocked Ben’s arm away before lunging forward and sinking his teeth into Ben’s shoulder.
Ben screamed in agony as the thing pulled backwards, ripping a chunk of flesh away from his body. Bringing his Beretta around and leveling it at the side of the man’s head, Ben pulled the trigger, sen
ding a bullet into the man’s skull. Blood flew from the opposite side of the man’s head as the bullet exited his body. His body went limp, and he slowly fell sideways, away from Ben, landing in a pile of packaged powdered donuts and baked turnovers.
Ben looked at Celia, his face covered in shock over what had happened and fear as the realization of what had happened to him set in. Dazed, his eyes moved from her to hole in his shirt, where the exposed portion of what had been a healthy shoulder was now misshapen, missing the upper part of the muscle.
“I….I….”
“Oh my God, baby,” Celia cried, rushing to his side.
Ben’s arm extended suddenly, his palm facing her. “Stop! Stay back!”
Celia froze, her face filled with concern and fear. “But..”
Tears sprung forth from Ben’s eyes as he looked at her. “I don’t want to infect you, Celia.” His eyes dropped to the gun in his hand. “Take what you can and go. I’ll help you load stuff into the car.”
Celia stepped back, stunned. In her mind, she knew he was right. The bite from the infected man was effectively a death sentence.
Her heart refused to accept it.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Celia..”
“No, wait. Just listen. We’ll stay here until we see if you’re okay.” She looked around the store. “There’s probably first aid stuff around here that I can use to clean your wound.”
“Baby, you know I’m infected. We both know what will happen.”
She shook her head defiantly. “No, we don’t. We know what will probably happen. Okay, what most likely will happen, but not what’s certain to happen.”
Ben shook his head. “Come on, babe. Let’s not kid ourselves.”
“Please, baby. Let’s just not rush it.”
He looked down at his lap, then over at the dead man next to him. He shook his head, then looked back at her, not saying anything. His eyes, moist with tears, searched hers. Finally, he relented, rising to his feet. “Okay, but we’re going to take precautions.”
Celia stepped towards him, but he extended his hand again. “Nope. First thing, no touching. That’s non-negotiable. I’ll be damned if I’m going to be the one who infects you.”
She pulled back, nodding. “Okay.”
Celia found the first aid items and set them on the floor in front of Ben while he slowly cleaned and bandaged his wound. After he’d finished, he tested the movement of his arm. It was painful to move, and his range of motion was limited, but at least it was still usable.
From there they settled in, making the convenience store their temporary home. Maintaining separation, the two of them worked to straighten and organize the place. While Celia found boxes in the back and loaded them with what little dried goods were available (mostly, chips, crackers, protein bars, and beef jerky, along with a small assortment of canned foods), Ben moved the dead clerk and the man he’d shot outside, then dragged two of the heavier display cases in front of the door before finding the keys to the small office at the back of the store.
The agreement was that he’d remain locked in the back room for 48 hours (Celia wanted to limit it to 24 hours, but Ben had refused to budge on the 48 hour requirement). During his quarantine, Celia would keep the gun. For meals, he’d answer a complex Physics question (his major in college) to prove his mind was still whole before she opened the door and delivered the food.
True to his word, he spent the next two days locked inside the room, wondering when he’d begin to feel like one of the monsters they’d encountered. When no changes had occurred after the first twenty four hours, Celia began to feel like they’d been given a blessing from God, though Ben was still reluctant to count any blessings yet.
It was near the end of the first day that Celia had decided to listen to a small portable radio the clerk had kept behind the counter. When she found the FM channels full of static, she decided to try the AM band.
“This is the Emergency Broadcast System with an urgent message for citizens of the United States. Protective zones have been established in San Francisco, Oklahoma City, Indianapolis, and Boston. Citizens are advised to proceed to the protective zones immediately. The government will not be working to secure other cities until a much later date. All entrants will be subject to a four day quarantine in the outer tent city, during which time they will be provided protection, food, water, and temporary shelter. After required quarantine, entrants will be allowed into the city and provided with more permanent accommodations.”
There was hope.
Rushing to the back room, she relayed what she’d heard. Though not as enthused as she was, Ben agreed it was a viable option. Assuming he made it through the next thirty-plus hours, if his family home in Clarksville wasn’t safe, they’d make their way to Indianapolis. The thought of living in a tent for several days was far from appealing, after his encounter with the infected man, the idea of being somewhere safe held plenty of appeal.
As the forty-eight hour quarantine was coming to an end, Celia could barely contain her excitement. Looking at her watch, she counted down aloud from ten to zero, then threw the door open and wrapped her arms around Ben, planting a kiss on his lips. The light kiss turned into a deeper one, which turned into a passionate embrace. They clawed each other’s clothes, desperate to feel closer, amazed that he’d survived a near-certain death sentence. Within seconds, Ben lowered her to the makeshift bed he’d made on the floor of the small room and made love to her.
Lying next to each other afterward, Ben grabbed her hand and held it up. Looking at the engagement ring he’d placed on her finger barely three months prior, he said, “As soon as we’re somewhere safe, I want to marry you, Celia Gomez. I don’t want to wait any longer. I love you.”
Celia cried, burying her head in Ben’s chest. “I’d love that, baby. I love you, too.”
Feeling stir crazy after being cooped up in the small confines of the convenience store for two days, they wasted no time loading the car and getting on the road. Feeling like they’d been given a gift from God, they were upbeat and positive, happily watching the miles go by as they drove along the small, two-lane, tree-lined highway. They snacked on chips, cookies, and beef jerky as they drove, sipping bottled water or Gatorade while occasionally checking the radio for updates. There were none, only the same recorded message, over and over.
When they reached Ben’s family home, they found nightmares.
Images that would haunt him for the days to come.
His father was dead, killed by his mother, whose blood stained mouth and chin revealed her guilt.
His mother was dead, killed by his little brother, who’d suffered fatal injuries during her attack.
His pre-teen sister was dead as well, left in her bed. Her sheets were soaked in blood, her small frame had gaping wounds in her throat and stomach.
Throughout it all, Celia had been left to follow in his tracks, unfamiliar with the home’s layout or where his family members were likely to be.
In the end, he’d fallen to the floor in his sister’s room, where he’d cried uncontrollably, leaning over until his head was resting on his hands on the floor. She’d been able to do little more than hold him, caressing his back and shoulders as she struggled to find the right words to help him deal with his heavy loss.
Sometime later, after his body’s ability to produce tears had left him, she led him to the living room, guiding him to a sofa so that he could rest while she brought him water and cleaned his wound again. Once he regained some strength, the two of them got to the work of giving each of his family members a proper burial.
The work had been exhausting, as they dug four deep holes in the corner of the massive property, then moved each of the bodies outside, then across the full acre of land that separated the house from the burial site. Celia thought of suggesting using the wheelbarrow to move the bodies, but something told her Ben would be appalled at the suggestion.
By the time they were done, it was night
time, and they were in desperate need of sleep, but Ben refused to head upstairs to the bedrooms, knowing that his family had been killed not twenty feet in any direction from his room. Instead, she had him remain downstairs, where he drank whiskey while she moved his mattress, blankets, and pillows down from his room to the living room.
Sleep came hard for him, and try as she might, she was unable to stay up with him, to try to be there for him while he dealt with his sorrow. In the end, she simply lay next to him, holding her body close to him as she fell asleep, trying to convey to him that she was there for him.
When the morning came, they’d faced a dilemma over what to do next. On one hand, traveling to the Protective Zone in Indianapolis seemed like the right thing to do, to get to safety and to be part of the community that would hopefully, eventually, help get things back to some semblance of normalcy. On the other, the Lake Family home was on the outskirts of Clarksville, far from the population center and separated from the nearest road by multiple acres of undeveloped land, filled with trees, bushes, and undergrowth. Closer to the property, just over an acre from the home in every direction, was a large steel-reinforced fence that stood ten feet tall. They’d be safe there. Eventually, Ben would be able to accept the death of his family, and maybe they’d be able to use the entire house again.
They’d been at an impasse until Celia suggested they check the radio to see if there had been any new developments. Grabbing his father’s old battery-powered transistor radio from his downstairs den, Ben turned the device on and scrolled through the AM band until he heard the government emergency address.
“This is the Emergency Broadcast System with an urgent announcement. If you or someone you know is immune to the Rage Virus, please make your way to one of the protective zones immediately. Your help is needed as soon as possible. Protective zones had been set up in San Francisco, Oklahoma City, Indianapolis, and Boston. Citizens are advised to proceed to the protective zones immediately. The government will not be working to secure other cities until a much later date. All entrants will be subject to a four day quarantine in the outer tent city, during which time they will be provided protection, food, water, and temporary shelter. After required quarantine, entrants will be allowed into the city and provided with more permanent accommodations.”
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 6
