Respire

by Cody Prough

  The shots continued, shell casings started to fly around the bus, the remainder of the Sick Ward crouched down in their seats as best they could, if they could, and covered their ears. “Patrick!” If it had been a manageable volume, Patrick would have heard Lamar shouting his name from the front of the bus. But, just as the lurkers behind them dispersed or got shot, he turned and saw why: Three large lurkers had emerged from hiding, two on the right and one to the left. They were running full force towards the bus with agile and graceful movements.

  Patrick hardly had time to marvel at them, they stuck their mantid limbs into the bus, slicing through aluminum as they tried to pass by them, one lurker near the back killed the person just a seat in front of Patrick, slicing them in half through the bus.

  A gash opened on the bus as the lurker fell, ripping out the corpse of its victim with it. Patrick looked up to Lamar a moment too late, the beast that attacked from the left side had attached itself to the front. As the beast lunged in to kill George, Lamar tried to fend it off, but the shotgun blast was too much at close range. The lurker’s head disintegrated into a mist, with toxic gas filling the front of the bus.

  George had succumbed to it almost instantly, his face started to blister along with the rest of his body, but not before the blindness took hold, causing the bus to crash into an old Pontiac that had been left on the side of the road. Slamming into the trunk, Lamar attempted to grab the wheel, jerking it right and out of George’s grasp. The bus, now turning sharply, slid across the road, flipping onto its side.

  Even as the bus flipped the remaining lurker still left didn’t move—the bus crushed it, pushing more toxic gas into the cab. The bus tipped over and slid into a nearby house, destroying part of the wall. Gas misted around outside where the lurker was crushed, the body flattened and smeared under the war rig of a bus. Deadly fumes continued to pour in through the windows, blistering and suffocating people as they lay there unconscious.

  Oh God, I’m blind. This is how it happens.

  “Lamar!” Patrick’s voice was hoarse, it didn’t sound right. He clawed at his face, feeling his mask and sighing with relief. After moving his hand over his eyes he could finally see. He almost wished he hadn’t. Scattered all around him in the bus were the remains of the Sick Ward, supplies and weapons were scattered, bodies littered everywhere, an empty pet carrier that had busted open (with no sign of Beansie). Most were covered in yellow blisters, blood pouring out of their open wounds, some were fortunate enough to have been crushed or killed during the crash, but not many. Patrick coughed; everything was hurting badly.

  The kid…

  “Lamar!” Patrick felt around again. His AK was buried under some debris but was easy enough to lift out. He stood and gained some decent footing he could look around the bus, but he didn’t see the kid, or Steve among the dead. “Good, maybe he made it out.” Patrick still didn’t like the sound of his voice; he was getting tired and beaten down too much as of late. “Steve! Lamar! Geo…” Patrick trailed off, seeing what must have been George dead at the wheel. A noise from outside the bus was becoming more prominent. He wasn’t sure if it was from the part buried inside the house or not, he checked his AK-47’s mag, almost crying.

  Half a fuckin’ mag, Oh damn it.

  Patrick popped it back in, lifting and readying it, he braced himself and aimed at the capsized bus entrance. “Patrick?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Only two other people from the Sick Ward remained after the crash, Ash and Clarence. Patrick was in no condition to move; his ribs were killing him. Luckily Lamar had been unscratched. He found a two-story place with a basement and good vantage point. Patrick had apparently been one hell of a teacher. Steve was not counted among the dead or living. “Where’s the angry guy?” Patrick glanced around the room, he was seated at the head of the table with his rifle next to him. Lamar had been running in and out of the room with new supplies that he had been able to salvage, finally stopping once everyone had something to eat and a bottled beverage.

  After some discussion between Lamar, the other two survivors, and Patrick, Lamar agreed he wouldn’t go after Steve and that it was most likely a lost cause, if he was out there at all.

  He helped Patrick set up a small sleeping area for the four of them after Lamar had talked them all into laying down, he went upstairs for some time alone. He ransacked the upstairs bedrooms, coming out with some loose-fitting winter clothes left by the previous residents: boots a size too big, three pairs of socks and a wool knit cap. His gas mask hanging in the bag by his side, his recovered shotgun held firmly in his grasp.

  Lamar started to move out of the kitchen, taking the backdoor. He glanced back once more, seeing Patrick asleep on the couch, the other two laying on makeshift bedding in the living room near him. Patrick’s breathing looked steady but sounded painful. Lamar could only hope that he’d be back soon.

  He sighed, closing the door behind him as he went. He set off towards the school, the shotgun barrel rested in his left palm, the trigger guard being caressed by his right index finger while he made his way into the world. He began to pray silently with each step, steeling himself as he followed the single pair of snowy footprints leading away from the bus crash,

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Mr. Canard.” Ken Hughes was in his study when Jacob Canard came in, he was in the middle of cleaning a gun. “Pleasure seein’ you here.” Ken Hughes stood up, sticking a hand towards Mr. Canard who regarded it as one would roadkill. “Ah yes, Hughes.” Ken slowly moved his hand down, looking at Jacob. “The gentleman you’ve been looking for, this Patrick, someone matching his description has been seen antagonizing associates of mine…” Jacob cleared his throat. “Sorry, associates of ours in Mahomet.

  Ken Hughes began to sit back down, gesturing towards the chair opposite of him. “Oh? Well, is there any chance of…” Ken pondered the thought for a minute, tapping his ring on the desk. Jacob eyed him with irritation.

  If only the Marine had the same amount of men and infrastructure as this ogre.

  “Of what? That he’ll be taken? Mr. Hughes, they’ll try their best. However, we at the Organization need something from you at the Brotherhood and this… New America. We have plans to set into motion and—” Ken held up his hand, cutting Jacob off. “Sorry, Mr. Canard, but I believe the deal was we would not move forward until your associates helped bring us Patrick and an ample supply of firearms training with those firearms for my people.”Mr. Canard cleared his throat, standing up and looking down at Ken, a look of disappointment on his face. “Mister Hughes, I’m sorry things had to happen this way between our factions.” Ken’s face went pale, his eyes widened. “Wait…wait, let me try that again.” Jacob Canard flashed a grin, a seldom show of joy. But he couldn’t resist, he had to taunt this hick for his insubordination. “We have procured an older model moving van, in there you’ll find surplus National Guard weapons as well as a variety of munitions.” Canard paused, looking at Ken with contempt, waiting for him to say something.

  “I have a guest with me, you are to take this guest personally and a group of others to Kansas City.” Ken’s eyes stayed wide, but his jaw dropped open. “Wait…how the fuck am I supposed to do that? I have a government to run here. The people need me.”

  Jacob had begun to move to the door, turning his head towards Ken ever so slightly before grabbing the doorknob. “Simple, Mister Hughes. You have a council to handle such matters, but I’m holding you personally responsible for this. I will be leaving you with a convoy of men and bulletproof Hummers. You will receive further instructions upon your arrival but fret not. It is only a six-hour drive.” Jacob didn’t have to turn to know the look on Ken’s face would be. “Oh, and if a single hair is misplaced on any of their heads. Particularly the women, your government will cease to exist.” Jacob allowed himself that grin again, he knew Ken felt it, the sting of pain to his pride. His hand finally rested on the doorknob, he eased it open and stepped out. Nodding to
the cripple Priest in the wheelchair who was studying the Bible, eavesdropping on the conversation.

  On the other side of the conflict, in Mahomet, Steve was following the sound of an idling truck engine. He was dazed, but he felt fine, somehow escaping the bus unscathed. Though he was positive shock was at least part of the reason he wasn’t in agonizing pain.

  Maybe I should stop…

  Steve shook his head, refusing the notion.

  Sarah…

  Steve continued for what felt like an hour, finally seeing the idle truck. Inside he could make out one head tilted back, the other was bouncing up and down in the lap. As Steve bent down, his knees gave off a loud pop, he almost groaned. Apparently, they hadn’t noticed much. Steve bit his lip, checking the back of the truck bed and grabbing a screwdriver.

  Fuck it. He crept up to the truck, risking a glance inside before opening the door. He saw the small frame of Bug, his face twisted in pleasure, a puff of red hair sticking out from his cap. The head, bobbing up and down, appeared to be attached to some brunette. Steve flung the door open with his left hand; with his right he forced the tip of the screwdriver into Bug’s left eye with lethal accuracy. Before the female could react, Steve grabbed her head with his left hand, forcing it down into Bug’s lap, grabbing the semiautomatic M4A1 off the dash before letting her up, he aimed at her and waited for her to stop screaming. “The woman, red head. Where is she?” The girl inside shook her head, still terrified. “Where’s your leader? Where’s Tommy?” She pointed towards the school, stuttering as she spoke. “He…basement…clos…” Steve fired, the shot ripped through her forehead, shattering the window behind her.

  Just a few minutes behind, Lamar heard the crack of the rifle and picked up his speed. He came by the truck moments after Steve turned the corner, if Lamar had been following Steve, he couldn’t be far, now. “Steve!” Lamar’s shout was loud, the echo carrying. “Damn it, Steve!” Now his voice lowered a bit, as he turned the corner, he saw Steve sitting on a step, the M4A1 resting next to him. “Kid, y’know they can hear really well, right? The lurkers.” Steve was smoking his last cigarette, a tired look on his face. “Fuckin’ aged ten years since last week. Fuckin’ Tommy.” Lamar looked at him, sad and bewildered. “’Suppose I’m not talkin’ you out of this, am I?” Steve shook his head, ashing his cigarette on the snow. “Kid, I need to find her. None of this waitin’ shit.” Lamar held out a hand, hoisting Steve back up to his feet. “Fine. But I got an idea on how to do it.” Steve grinned from ear to ear. “Help me find some stuff.”

  Patrick McKinley,

  Lamar ran off to fight Steve’s crusade. I was too injured to go with him. The caravan we were traveling with got attacked by lurkers. Feels like a sick act of God more than anything. I don’t know if when the kid’ll be back. I’m currently in a party with two other people in total, not counting myself. Below, for the records, are their names.

  Clarence Wallace

  Ash Thompson

  After we all rest for a few nights we’re heading west again, suppose I’m not waiting around forever. Something tells me we’ll find a working vehicle around here still, despite the events lately the survivors I’m with seem to be recovering. They agreed to come west with me, because what else were they going to do?

  Patrick wrapped the notebook up, tucking it back into his bag. He had found a decent bottle of whiskey downstairs. He was slightly buzzed but held the bottle up anyways in mock celebration. Patrick took another gulp, setting the bottle back down.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Thomas C. Warlock was not asleep. He was wide awake, his hand cannon resting peacefully by his side. He heard the noises outside, the lurkers screaming and the crashing. He knew, somehow he knew, that Mister Canard was done with them now. Mister Canard would not be back. They had served their purpose. How Tommy got outplayed so effortlessly was astounding. He had given men to train the east, he had done favors for this Brotherhood and respected the territories of their so called “New America” as Canard put it. But had it been worth it? Canard left not long ago with plenty of healthy people, everything was going to shit outside. He was down to a handful of men.

  Was it just Alverez’s men and Crater’s? Fuck. Bottom of the barrel.

  Tommy knew Romero was dead, no way she would have been out this long otherwise. His radio had been smashed against the wall a bit ago, but he grabbed a replacement off one of his men. Some soldiers had started leaving their posts. The ones manning the perimeter were first, getting cold feet, the rumors of Romero being dead had spread. They all saw a notable chunk of people leave with Jacob Canard as well, some of them were their guys, others they couldn’t identify. Then Romero didn’t come back, and more noises were heard. Even after the beasts stopped screaming, they could hear the gunshots. Nobody in Tommy’s Militia, nobody would have predicted the Sick Ward having so much resilience. If only Tommy hadn’t had such a damn hard on for absolute power. And so, slowly, the outer guards drifted off and started to desert. One such person being Bug, heading out east towards New America, in hopes of finding new lives and a fresh start. That was moments before the screwdriver was plunged into his eye, however.

  Inside his base, Thomas Warlock stepped out to view his remaining forces, the ones that had stayed were in the basement. There were perhaps a dozen strong men and women, armed to the teeth with military grade M4A1 rifles, one of them even had a grenade on his belt. Tommy nodded in approval. “I suppose you guys know what’s comin’.” They all murmured in agreement, nodding to one another. “And you know what they’ve accomplished to get over here. Dorian is dead. Tennessee and Romero are dead, without a doubt. But we must rally! We still have the National Guard weaponry, and we are soldiers!”

  Tommy hoisted his rifle up for emphasis, the group cheered. “Now, listen up. We’re not retreating. This is our fortress. They’re the barbarians at the gate! We will not surrender to them nor will we lose. I do not care what they want. Now, who’s with me?!” The cheers filled the basement, the rifles started slamming on the ground eagerly, Tommy looked over their faces, wondering just how many of them were going to die before they finally killed the Sick Ward’s boogeyman. The unfamiliar feeling of fear crept over Tommy like a snake winding itself around his neck. Such an unfamiliar feeling. He gripped his rifle firmly. “Alverez, you and your squad take the courtyard. I’m heading up to the roof, Crater, secure the first floor, all entrances.” Explosives started to go off around them, shaking the ground above their heads. They ran up the stairs, Tommy taking the flank.

  Upstairs, Lamar and Steve made a quick trip out of getting to the school, passing some of Tommy’s men who instantly surrendered and offered up what they could for their lives. They didn’t want to worry about the boogeymen the Sick Ward seemed to be sending to exact revenge and had taken out their elite squads. If only they knew it had been dumb luck, Steve thought each time he heard the reputation they had quickly acquired.

  After making their way to the motor pool they carefully chose certain vehicles and pushed some, drove others, into a semi-circle wagon formation and against the main and side doors.

  The only difference now being, Lamar figured, that each vehicle had a rag of some sort stuffed into the gas tank and a small flame lit on the rag. The four vehicles they had set up outback were close enough, Steve and Lamar darted off, heading for the one door they left unblocked. The other remaining doors barricaded by vehicles and junk. The plan was simple; bottle neck the enemies.

  What happened next was ungodly quick. Tommy’s men saw the cars blocking the main entrance of the school, running for alternative doors. Fear began to take hold, and Crater’s men weren’t cut out for this level of combat. Panicked, three of the remaining troops ran for the one unblocked door. Before they could hear the warnings from everyone else, a volley of rifle and shotgun blasts range out, decimating them.

  Alverez and Crater’s remaining men took up defensive positions. Tommy had backed away, his gun aimed at the door. “Men, guard
me.” It was Crater who glanced over, and it was his men who had just died. “Sir, where are you going?!” Tommy was working his way up the stairs. “Alverez, you and your squad follow me.” Crater and his remaining two men were guarding the front door, Alverez and her four troops were following Tommy up the stairs.

  Tommy was heading for the roof, he needed to get away from his pursuers, maybe he could find a way down. Off in the great distance the sound of a lurker could be heard. Then, slowly…two…and three… Tommy’s heartbeat climbed with the number rising in the distance, before long he could hear the shouting behind him. “Crater, the attackers fled! But I think I hear lurk—” an explosion cut them off, crashing was heard, as if a car was driven directly into one of the walls, the smoke and fire starting to spread along the schoolyard.

  By the time Tommy reached the roof, he and Alverez were winded, they took up positions behind the exhaust vents, aiming at the door. His breathing started to steady; he was taking deep breaths. Outside, he saw men fleeing, one appeared to be Crater. Fuckin’ cowards. But what was he doing? Camping out on the roof for a night under the stars? Hardly.

  They waited in silence for several more moments, not taking their eyes off the door to the roof. The breathing was normal again, Tommy was covered in cold sweat. “Alverez. Anything?” Alverez shook her head. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on. Men, check it out.” Alverez’s men moved towards the roof door, brandishing two assault rifles and bulletproof vests, shaking badly. An item came over the side of the roof, followed by several more.

  Plop

  “Wha…”

  Plop

  Plop

  Plastic bottles filled with a purple liquid drain cleaner and rolled up aluminum foil lay just inches from Tommy and Alverez. The bottles had started to expand, along with Tommy and Alverez’s eyes. Tommy managed to move just a foot away when the first one went off; it made a loud BANG like a gunshot.