by A. J. Sikes
Whatever it was, this disease moved faster than anything Meg had ever heard of. With thoughts about Tim trying to force their way into her mind, Meg did her best to keep cool and remember who she was and why she did this job that she loved.
“Because nothing’s going to slow me down,” she muttered under her breath. One of the soldiers in the truck said something to her, but she didn’t reply.
Help was coming to the people of New York City. Help named Meg Pratt.
— 8 —
Elmhurst, Queens
Jed let his arms relax, but he kept the Glock in front of him, hoping whoever was behind him didn’t know he was armed. But what the fuck happened to Chips? Did he go into the wrong apartment? This was his place; Jed knew the door from all the times he’d gone through it when they were in school.
“Easy, cabrón,” a voice said. Jed didn’t recognize it, so he stayed cool. But he wasn’t going to go down like a bitch either.
“Yo, I’m a friend of Chips. Amigo, you in there? Tell this moth—”
The gun went away from Jed’s back and hands grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him inside. The door slammed shut in front of him and he was spun around by whoever had pulled him in. Jed tried to bring the Glock up, but another hand was on his wrist holding his arm down at his side. He went to look at whoever held his hand, but the man in front of him slapped him once and demanded his attention.
“Look at me, cabrón. Just me.”
Jed looked into the angry face of a man he’d never seen before. The guy’s skin was wrinkled like he was a three-pack addict. His narrow brown eyes looked familiar. Like Chips’ eyes. Maybe this dude was Chips’ uncle or something. He was a lot older than anyone Jed had ever seen around the place. He even had gray hairs mixed in with the jet-black stubble on top of his head.
“You a friend of Miguel? The fuck you coming around with a gun in you hand if you his friend?” the old man demanded, holding a little snubnose in Jed’s face.
“I’m—I’m Jed. Me and Chip—Miguel, we know each other from back in the day. I was—He gave me the gun.”
Jed didn’t know how much to let on about why Chips gave him the gun. If this guy was Chips’ dad or uncle, he probably knew what Chips was into. Hell, the guy probably got Chips started in the game. But still…
“Okay, pendejo. Okay. Tito,” the man said now, looking over Jed’s shoulder.
Jed felt the Glock being slipped from his grasp and then his hand was let go. Tito, one of Chips’ brothers, stepped around from behind Jed and looked him in the eye.
“He’s okay, Tío. Just some dude Miguel knows from school. I think he’s cool.”
Tito and the older man traded a few lines in Spanish that Jed couldn’t follow. He wanted to interrupt and ask about the zombies and where Chips was at, but they spoke so fast he couldn’t figure out where to put his question. Then they stopped and both stared at him.
“Okay,” the man said, tucking in his snub nose at the small of his back. “You can stay with us. For now. Miguel y Memo coming back soon. They out getting supplies.”
“Supplies?” Jed asked, even as he figured the man meant gear they would need for survival. “Because of the zombies. Yeah. Cool.”
Tito shared a look with the guy, and Jed wondered if he’d stuck his foot in his own mouth. Then the old man said, “Sí, because of the zombies.” He smiled when he said the word and that made Jed’s skin crawl like it wanted to run out the door and leave him standing there looking like a zombie freak himself.
The three men stood there for a solid minute of awkward damn silence. Jed wanted to take a seat, but the only place to sit was a funky-ass sofa up against the wall opposite the door. Tito was standing near it, with Jed’s Glock in his hand still. Jed looked at the gun and then at Tito, who just shook his head, like he was saying Uh-uh, no can do, homie.
Jed stuck his hands in his pockets and stared around the place, at the shitty carpet and the stained walls, the light fixtures on the ceiling, all full of dead bugs. That’s when Jed realized none of the lights were on. He was going to ask about the power being out, but gunfire sounded from the apartment above. Tito and the old man stared at the ceiling with worry or fear dragging their mouths into frowns. The old man put his hand on his snubnose.
Racing footsteps stomped against the floor above. A door slammed open. The footsteps clattered down the concrete balcony and out of earshot.
“The fuck was that?” Jed asked. “Is that—”
The door flew open and someone piled into Jed, knocking him down on his face. Jed tried to get to his feet, but whoever had knocked him down had fallen with him. They were tangled up with a knee in Jed’s back and what felt like two sets of arms wrapped around his head. A backpack or some other bag was on Jed’s legs, and he had to struggle just to get to his knees under him.
The door slammed shut.
A pair of hands grabbed Jed under the arms and lifted him up. He tried to shrug out of the grip, but whoever it was had him tight. Then he was being spun around, and ended up looking at Chips.
“Amigo, you all right, yeah?” Chips asked, pulling Jed in for a quick hug. “Sorry I had to cut out like that. Tio Rafi needed some things from his place.”
Jed shook it off and gave Chips a nod. His little brother, Memo, was standing next to him. His thick black hair hung down on one side of his face, covering half his eye and cheek. The kid was just a runt when Jed left for the Marines, but he was coming up now, looking more like a man. Jed gave the kid a nod, then asked Chips, “How’d you get out? I was by the door right after you…”
“Back door, homie. Tio Rafi lives upstairs. We went up the balcony,” Chips said. Then he turned to the old man. “Some of them zombies up in your place, Tio. But me and Memo got ’em.”
Jed noticed Memo wasn’t looking too happy. His upper lip kept curling up, like he wanted to snarl or spit, but was afraid to make any sound at all. The kid was scared, that much was easy to see. But something else was going on with him.
“Yo, everything cool, Memo?” Jed asked.
“Course everything’s cool,” Chips said before Memo could answer. The kid reached down and grabbed up the backpack that had fallen on Jed’s legs. It was heavy, Jed could tell, and the kid had to use both hands to get it up onto his shoulder. Then Memo shook and coughed, nearly dropping the pack. He put a hand up to cover his mouth.
Chips backed up a step and looked at him. Jed did the same and so did Tito and the old man. Then Memo’s body bucked, like he’d been kicked in the back. His head whipped back. Jed stepped back another pace right as Memo doubled over. A spray of blood shot out of his mouth, covering Tito’s face and the old man’s, too. Chips had an arm up and backpedaled into the kitchen.
“Fuck!” Jed screamed.
Tito spun away to Jed’s right, stumbling and landing on the couch. He and the old man both wiped at their eyes, but in seconds the wiping turned into scratching. Then both men clawed at their faces as they shook and howled about things Jed couldn’t see.
“Get ’em off me, Tio! Get ’em off of me, please!” Tito shouted.
The old man screamed in Spanish and swatted at the air around his head. In a heartbeat, he went still, with a look on his bloodied face that told Jed the man was losing his mind. His eyes bugged out and seemed to follow a fly or a mosquito, but Jed didn’t see anything buzzing around the room. Memo had gone down on all fours. The backpack landed behind him with a heavy thud. Chips had his gun out, but tears streaked down his face as he watched his brothers and uncle twitch and convulse on the floor.
“No, no, no,” Chips said, shaking hard and only half-heartedly lifting his gun. Finally, he got the muzzle up, but he didn’t fire. Jed looked left and right. His Glock was on the couch next to Tito, but Jed wasn’t about to go near the guy. Not now. Not with all that blood and shit leaking out of his mouth. Tito tumbled off the couch and wretched. A stream of thick blackish liquid spilled onto the carpet by his face. The old man was shaking again, and
grabbing at the air like he was fighting a ghost.
Chips aimed his gun right at Memo then. “I’m sorry, hermano. I’m so sorry,” Chips said. He looked away as he pulled the trigger. Jed jumped when the gun went off.
The bullet just went into the floor by Memo’s hand. Memo reared back and shrieked at Chips, then spun in place to look right at Jed. The kid’s face was a mess of pulsing veins and twitching yellow eyes. Blood ran from every hole in his head, and his mouth was already a horrific sucker. Jed could see Memo’s teeth crushing together behind his puffy, bloody lips. As he watched, a set of needle-like teeth pushed up from behind his normal ones, and some of those fell out to land on the carpet in a pile of bloody goo.
“The fuck is this? The fu—Chips, man. Your brother’s—”
Another gunshot cracked and Memo’s face exploded, spraying blood and brains onto the carpet. Jed heaved his guts, adding to the mess. He staggered to the side and tripped over Tito’s legs, landing on the couch. His hand found the Glock, but he nearly fumbled it trying to get away from Tito’s clutching hands.
A hiss got his attention. The old man was on his stomach now, with his legs bent all wrong, like his joints went backward. Then his arms clicked and popped and he reared up from the waist, pivoting on the carpet. He went back and forth, first looking at Jed and then at Chips with those sickly yellow eyes and a sucker mouth full of needles.
“Jed, hermano. You gotta do it. I can’t—”
“Chips, man, this ain’t the time to go soft. Not now, man.”
The old man shuffled in place and aimed his face in Chips’ direction. Jed lifted the Glock and fired, right into the old man’s back. Then he put one into Tito who had started whipping his arms and legs up and down, making these crazy popping sounds. Jed finished the job with one to the head for each of the men.
Another gunshot split the air and Jed snapped a hand to his stomach. But he hadn’t been shot. He’d just felt it, like it was supposed to happen. But if it wasn’t him…
He looked into the kitchen to see Chips sliding down the fridge. His brains covered the freezer door. The gun fell out of his grip to clatter on the kitchen floor. His body followed it and landed with a thump.
Jed held a hand over his heart and kept the Glock up and ready as he watched Chips die.
“Stupid motherfucker,” Jed said. “Why’d you have to do that, Chips? Why’d you—Shit.” Careful to avoid the blood and gore that seemed to cover every surface, Jed went up closer to Chips’ body. “Why’d you have to… Shit, man. Shit.”
He used a kitchen towel to collect weapons off Tito and the old man. They had their guns stuffed in the back of their pants, and were still face down. The guns didn’t seem to have any blood on them, but Jed knew he had to be sure. He lifted Tito’s out with the towel and held it up, checking for any blood. When he didn’t see any, he tossed the piece away from the bodies to a clean part of the floor. Then he did the same with the uncle’s little snubnose. Memo’s gun was tucked into his waistband in front, so Jed left it there. He went back to the kitchen and grabbed Chips’ gun off the kitchen floor. He didn’t worry about the blood because he’d seen how the man went out.
You weren’t sick, man. You didn’t have none of Memo’s blood on you. Why’d you have to do it?
Jed found a couple of extra mags in Chips’ pockets. He emptied one and used the rounds to reload his Glock before he went through the apartment looking for something to carry his gear in. He didn’t find anything but funky-smelling mattresses in the bedrooms and some old clothes.
He got back to the front room and heard sirens outside. They were far enough away that he didn’t worry about them. He knew that something big was going down. If he did run into any 5-0, they’d probably give him a uniform and some extra ammo before they gave him a pair of handcuffs.
Yeah, bullshit. They’d take me down just like always. This here’s the Jed show now.
Jed looked at his dead friend and the other dudes.
“Guess maybe you saved yourself some hurt, Chips. I’ll see you on the other side, homie.”
Jed grabbed up the backpack that Memo had dropped. He hefted it and felt something boxy inside. Jed unzipped the largest pouch. It was full of ammo, boxes of 9mm and some .40 caliber. He stuffed the other pistols into the bag, zipped it up, and put it on. He kept his Glock in his hand. He’d have to get a holster for it soon.
He was about to leave when he thought about the money in his pocket. Jed went back and rifled through Chips’s pants. He came up with a thick wad that he stuffed in his pocket, rolled up tight. It wasn’t a bank roll, but it was a start. If he played it right, he could probably get his own place when it was all over.
Finally stop living in grandma’s house.
Jed went to the door and lifted his gun. He opened the door slowly and looked outside. A boy and girl sat like hunting cats on the other side of the pool area. The girl chewed on a human arm that had been torn off at the elbow. The boy seemed to be thinking about doing the same thing and kept dancing closer to the girl, but she swiped at him with her claws and he backed away. Jed gasped and they turned to look at him and hissed. Then the girl shrieked and they both charged, leaping around the ends of the pool like wild beasts. Jed fired three quick shots that went into the ground. He aimed better and fired again. The girl went down with two holes in her stomach and half her face missing. The boy nearly got to Jed before he pivoted left and fired his last few rounds. They hit the kid right in the chest. He went down and slammed face-first into the front stoop.
— 9 —
Upper East Side, Manhattan
The truck rumbled under Meg’s back, picking up speed at times, lurching and jerking at others.
“Can you let me up now?” Meg asked the soldier whose foot was right by her ear. She was tired of worrying if he was going to suddenly kick her the next time the truck lurched. The other soldier, the woman, made an uh-uh sound, but the first soldier leaned down and looked Meg in the eyes. She’d stopped crying. Tim was dead, gone, and never to return. Whatever was happening, it was huge, and he wasn’t the only husband who was lost. Wives were probably dying. And children, no doubt.
“People are going to need my help when we get to the house. I can help faster if I don’t have to unwind the knots in my arms and legs first.”
“Okay, ma’am,” the soldier said. He set his gun aside, laying it on the bench beside him. Then Meg felt the other soldier move from her bench. Hands went to the straps on Meg’s arms and ankles. Finally, she could move again and slowly stretched her limbs as the truck rumbled on. By the time they pulled up in front of her station house, Meg felt limber and warm and ready to get to work.
The soldiers motioned for her to wait while they looked out the back of the truck. Meg could see another truck behind them with two soldiers in the cab. Some hand signals went back and forth and the female soldier gave Meg the okay to get out. The woman shifted to sit on the bench again, holding her gun up and looking at the surrounding buildings like a monster might drop from them at any moment. The soldier’s tight features and grim posture told Meg this was more serious than she’d imagined.
“What’s happening? What are they?” she asked.
The woman grunted again, but the man answered from behind Meg. He’d moved to sit on the opposite bench.
“Some kind of monsters. We don’t know, ma’am. But—Don’t let ’em bite you or get any of their blood on you. And if you see anyone get bit, do ’em a favor.”
“A favor—” Meg started to say, but then realized what the soldier meant. She looked back and forth at them for a moment, taking in the man’s young features. He looked scared, she could tell, but not ready to give up. The woman wasn’t much older than him, but something had aged her recently. Meg had seen the look before, on people who had been there on 9/11.
“Thank you,” Meg said. She hopped down from the truck, catching the eyes of the soldiers in the truck cab behind them. One of them raised a hand and Meg waved back. Sh
e said, “Good luck,” turned, and said the same to the man and woman who had rescued her.
***
Meg stepped into the chief’s office, closed the door behind her and turned the deadbolt. The street outside had been quiet, but the station seemed deserted. The chief’s desk to her right was a scattered mess of papers and pens. Just like it always was. His coffee cup was upended and a brown ring on his desk blotter showed where it used to sit.
In front of Meg, the secretary’s desk sat quiet and empty, behind the low reception counter.
Nobody’s here? Why did they leave the door unlocked?
She tensed when she heard a soft scraping sound from the app floor. Meg stepped around the chief’s desk. Through the doorway into the app floor, she saw Eric and Rex coming up the basement stairs carrying cots. They had their turnout pants on and boots. The echo of the receding military truck engines faded away outside as Meg stepped onto the floor.
“Meg!” Eric shouted when she came in. He ran to her and held her tight for a moment, and she returned the embrace. Tears sprang to her eyes again when she realized how afraid she’d been that she’d never see him or the station again.
“It’s okay,” she said, pulling in a sob as they stepped apart. Rex came up to them.
“Good to see you again, Meg,” the big man said and held his arms out like he’d hug her. Meg gave him a quick embrace, slapping him on the back and stepping away just as fast. “Glad you made it,” Rex said, patting his hands on his pants as he sent shifty looks in every direction.
He’s scared shitless, Meg thought. Just what we need now, a babysitting job in the middle of a warzone.
“We’re getting the triage set up,” Rex said, still twitching where he stood. “Dispatch called the engine and ladder. That was about an hour ago. The phone wouldn’t stop ringing. But…”
Meg looked at Eric. His face went into a tight frown. “The engine and ladder have been gone too long. I’m afraid we might be on our own here.”