10 Minutes From Home | Book 1 | 10 Minutes From Home

by Howard, Bill

  "You know, you have no obligation to me. If you feel you will be safer here, have a better chance, then stay. After all you have both done for me, I would never hold it against you."

  Thom spoke up.

  "I don't know that we’re safer here than anywhere else Denny. I want to stick with you, and make sure Diane and Jordan are okay. You’re my family."

  Isabel agreed, but hesitantly. We decided to give it the night to sleep on it, and discuss it again in the morning.

  The families of the Bramford Towers apartments had a system of rotating which adults slept, so they always had two people awake keeping watch at all times, one in the apartment, and one on the balcony. Thom and I decided we would take one of the shifts to let the families have a bit of a break. Thom sat out on the balcony and I sat up in the front hallway by the door to the apartment, listening for any sounds in the corridor. I found a copy of Tony Burgess' novel Pontypool on a bookshelf and was giving it a read during my shift, but it started to freak me out with its similarities to our current situation, so I put it back. I decided instead to use the time to recall some fond memories of my regular life, almost drifting so far into the daydreams that I felt I was there.

  In the backyard pushing Jordan on her swings, barbecuing with Thom back in July at Diane's birthday party. Reading books to Jordan before she went to bed at night. I could smell her baby shampoo as if she were right beside me. I could hear her breathing; feel her little heartbeat under my hand as it lay on her chest. I missed her so much I could barely stand it.

  At about 3 a.m., I was nearing the end of my shift on guard, and my eyelids were getting very heavy. Through the narrow slits of my eyes, I saw movement in the room at the end of the hall. Someone getting up to relieve me, I hoped. I rubbed my eyes and took another look. There was a kid, a teenager, probably about 16, wearing a dark hoodie, tiptoeing around the sleeping bodies. I thought at first that it was the Cornell's 17-year-old son, but upon watching him a little longer, it realized it was not. I didn't recognize this boy from the kids I had just met. I stayed still, watching him skulk around the room. When he got to the corner of the living room where Frank was sleeping, he braced one hand against the wall, and leaned over Frank. I realized he was reaching for the shotgun that Frank had laid against the wall above his head. I jumped up from my position, outstretched my hand, and yelled stop at the top of my lungs. Everyone in the room bolted up, and the boy reached out and snatched the shotgun, the butt of the gun hitting Frank on the head as he sat up. Most of the people in the room yelled from being awaken so abruptly, and Frank’s hands went out in front of him, telling the boy to take it easy. Frank looked confused and the boy just stood there holding the gun awkwardly, and then turned his head in my direction. His eyes were yellow and reflected the light from the one floor lamp that was on in the room. He didn’t look infected, but his eyes were like those of an animal in headlights, bright and wide. He looked back at Frank, swung the gun across the room, making everyone duck their heads in cover, then flipped the rifle in his hands and pressed the barrel against his chin, squeezing the trigger. His head came clean off his neck, shattering like a cheap piñata all over the room. His body jerked and dropped to the carpeted floor with surprisingly little mess, as most of the head was on the ceiling and walls. Frank grabbed the gun back from the boy’s dead hands and got up off the floor, quickly throwing a blanket over the body. Most of the adults already had their hands over their kids’ eyes, and many adults went pale and looked like they were about to pass out. A few people got up and started checking everyone else, especially the children. Then it occurred to me that Thom wasn’t here. I ran to the balcony doors and flung them open, throwing the black curtain aside. Thom laid on the concrete floor of the outlook, motionless, a stream of blood trailing down his forehead. I slid to my knees at his side and checked his pulse, talking to him quietly as I did. His eyelids fluttered and then opened, and he looked at me.

  “What the fuck was that?” he mumbled.

  I let out a small uncomfortable laugh of relief.

  “Some kid must have jumped balconies and got the best of you. He looked like he might have been infected or something. He grabbed Frank’s rifle and blew his head off.”

  “Frank’s dead?” said Thom, his voice slightly cracking.

  “Sorry, that’s not what I meant; I mean the boy blew his own head off.”

  Thom’s posture relaxed and he sunk back into my arms, his hand rising to feel his own forehead. I helped him inside and Emily tended to his head wound. The children were rounded up and put into another room, while Frank and three or four others started cleaning up the mess that was once a boy with no hope and a few minutes of wisdom.

  We decided to barricade the balcony, and just keep watch on the city safely from inside the apartment, posting the second watch at the window with the best view. Tonight’s event put a new spin on the infection, telling us that there seemed to be a short time span before the infected went totally berserk. The fact that the kid even showed up was not good for our outlook though, as we could assume if he was in the building and infected, there were probably more. Still, Frank had this place secured pretty well, it was just a matter of what happened once more time passed and supplies got low. There would have to be outings throughout the building for food and supplies, but I couldn’t worry myself with that right now, I had to concentrate on my own future.

  The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, and although most of the people were still sleeping, exhausted from the drama of the night before, I was up and getting ready to leave. Thom, Isabel, and John were still asleep, but Frank was up, having never gone back to sleep after the suicide. We spoke a little about Frank’s plans, and about my plan to get home. I promised Frank that if there was a way for me to get help to him once I got home, I would. He promised the same to me should he encounter help. By about 6 a.m., I woke up the others to tell them I was heading out. I had considered leaving without them, thinking they would be safer here, but I decided against it. It was their choice to do what they wanted.

  Once everyone was up, our discussion of the previous night picked up where it left off. There was quite a bit of back and forth about the whole thing, as Thom felt that Isabel should stay in the apartment for her own safety, and Isabel wanted to leave. John seemed to be on Thom’s side, and I tried to stay out of it. In my eyes, it was Isabel’s choice to do whatever she wanted; she was an adult. Thom had obviously formed a parental bond with her, and it was kicked into high gear right now. They bickered like a father and daughter having an argument about an undesirable boyfriend. They finally came to the conclusion that both of them would continue with me on my journey, and John had decided that he would be able to help if he stayed with Frank and the families of the Bramford. With his police and security background, I wholeheartedly agreed. We gathered up our share of supplies and said our goodbyes to our new acquaintances. Isabel gave each of the kids a hug, and exchanged some words with each of the adults. Thom stood by and watched, with what seemed like a newfound sense of pride towards Isabel. Perhaps her unwillingness to stay and her sense of loyalty impressed Thom. Frank unbarricaded the main door, and bid us farewell one last time. We shook hands and started our way to the stairwell.

  As we passed door after door in the hallway, there was nothing coming from any of them. I wondered what was behind each one. More families? More infected? An apartment building could be a huge refuge or it could be a powder keg depending on its inhabitants. We reached the door and entered the grey concrete stairwell, the dim rectangular tube stretching above our heads and four levels down. We started to head down when we heard what sounded like a door slamming above us. We froze in our tracks and listened. Not a sound followed. My hand gripped the handrail and my knuckles started to turn white. Sudden sounds really made me jumpy now. Thom turned to me.

  “I don’t think it’s anything Denny. Let’s go.”

  I waited a second longer, but Thom was right; there was no more noise
from above. I took a step down, then stopped as I felt a very light pat on the back of my hand on the rail. I glanced down at a small puddle of translucent liquid. I stuck the finger from my right hand into it and swirled it about. It was thick, syrupy. I leaned over the railing and looked up the shaft to the levels above. I thought I saw someone looking over a railing above me, but it was too far and too dark to tell. I stood waiting for some sign of movement. The head popped out again, and this time more followed. Whoever it was had climbed onto the railing and was sitting in a crouch on it. A loud squeal belted out, echoing through the stairwell as I realized it was one of the infected. We all clapped our hands over our ears, and as I watched it howl, it leapt off the railing and came hurdling down the center of the stairwell headfirst. I ducked back into the stairs, and spread my arms out wide, pushing everyone back against the wall. The thing flew past us, screaming, with arms swinging wildly. One hand grabbed the rail in front of us and the things body slammed into the side of the stairs with a thud. It hung there for a second, but the force of the fall took over and its fingers let go, allowing it to fall to the bottom. I looked over the railing and saw it lying on the floor, a burst of blood haloing its head. Its hand twitched slightly, then its head flung around and looked up at us with another piercing cry. It jumped up and started running up the stairs, its eyes locked on us the whole time. It continued to bellow as it ran, and we readied our weapons for its arrival. Before it reached us, something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. I turned quickly back to the stairwell opening as another thing whizzed by us, this one going right to the floor. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I tilted over and looked up the stairs again. There must have been a dozen of them at varying heights, all climbing up the railings and throwing themselves off in an effort to get to us. The approaching one had reached our set of steps and lunged up at us, but Thom stopped it dead in its tracks with a shotgun blast to the head. Its cranium burst open like a water balloon and its body fell limp, sliding down the stairs. There were about five or six of them at the bottom of the stairwell now, so we had to find another way out and quick. We were on the third floor, so we opened the door to that level and went in, running down the hall towards the stairwell on the other side of the building, figuring if they followed us, we might be able to make it down those stairs and out before they caught up to us. Two things clumsily tossed the door open where we came in and gave chase. We got to the end of the corridor and flung open the entrance to the second stairwell. We ran in and it seemed to be clear. For a split second we considered going back up to warn Frank and the others, but we figured all we would end up achieving is leading the things to them. John had things secure there, and they would all be safe for the time being. We started down the stairs, hearing the things following about a floor and a half behind us. We reached the ground floor and entered the lobby of the building, a calm, serene, and very 1970s-style lobby with a koi pond. We ran across it and out the front door, and Thom looped his belt around the door handles, keeping what was in from following us out at least for a little while. We tore across the lawn and into another grouping of apartment buildings, trying to get as much distance as we could between us and the infected. I glanced to my right as we ran and saw Thom running with me, and looked to the left for Isabel but saw nothing. I stopped suddenly, as did Thom, and we both turned around to see if she was lagging behind. Isabel stood about 30 yards behind us, looking back at the building. We couldn’t see the building from our position through the large maple trees around us, so we jogged back to Isabel to see what was wrong. As we approached her from beneath the old maple, the Bramford loomed before us and we wondered why Isabel was staring at it. We squinted and looked closer. The Bramford Towers apartments looked like a beehive; what seemed like hundreds of bodies were crawling around on the balconies, jumping from one to another, climbing up and down them like rungs on a ladder, some falling off, some clawing over other ones to get to where they needed to go. As we stood and watched the bizarre sight before us, I realized something. We had to go back.

  CHAPTER 19:

  FRANK STIRLING CALLAGHAN

  Frank Stirling Callaghan was born on June 16, 1960, in Belleville, Ontario. Frank was the son of a construction supervisor, Leo, and a telephone operator, Marion. Growing up in the late 60s and early 70s, Frank’s parents were conservative, but active in their community. They aligned with many of the hippie movements, and were strong activists for environmental issues and human rights. They weren’t out front and public about their causes, but very outspoken and determined in their support.

  Frank grew up with similar views, spending much of his 20s volunteering with groups like Greenpeace and The World Wildlife Foundation. He travelled throughout the world helping countries in need through many different organizations, which is how he met Emily. Emily was also a volunteer helping in a small village in East Africa in 1989. Frank and Emily worked together every day, teaching English, helping deliver supplies, and assisting families in the surrounding villages. They loved their work, and through that work they grew to love each other.

  Upon returning home to Belleville, Frank kept in touch with Emily, who was from a small town in British Columbia called Hope. After a year or so of phone calls and the occasional plane trips for weeklong stays, Frank proposed to Emily during one of his visits to BC. Emily accepted and within three weeks she packed up everything she owned and moved to Ontario to live with Frank.

  A few years after getting married, Frank and Emily started their own print shop, based out of Bellville. Frank’s father had died in 1996, and his mother had been sick for a few years. After a few tough years, the business fell into a slump and eventually went bankrupt. Three days before Frank and Emily’s bankruptcy was to officially come to an end, Frank’s mother died, leaving a large sum to him and Emily, but the terms of the bankruptcy stated that any incoming money go to the payment of their debts, so the entire sum was absorbed into it. This matter of bad timing crippled the Callaghan family, and Frank took a job in a factory in Scarborough, moving the family there as well. Emily and a friend of hers opened a daycare in the building they lived in, providing care for many children from the buildings in the area. They had settled in to a life that was good for them, and that was sufficient to provide for their children. They still volunteered for local charities and causes, many times involving the girls in the activities as well. They taught them the valuable principles that they learned from their parents, that when people are in need, you open your door and your hearts to them and that hopefully people will do the same for you someday when you are in need. Looking back, they especially hoped the last part was true.

  CHAPTER 20:

  SEIGE OF THE BRAMFORD

  We needed a plan of attack to get back into the Bramford and get everyone out. Thom was hesitant, even though he bonded with everyone just as Isabel and I did. He just thought it was too risky, that we may not survive ourselves. After a few minutes of discussion, we decided that was a chance we had to take if it would help them.

  I figured the reason all of the infected were crawling on the outside was that they could figure out windows, or smash them, but doors were more of a challenge. The more I thought about it, the more I thought that the splatter from the gunshot fired by the suicide kid might have been what stirred them into a frenzy. Regardless of what attracted them to the building, we had to get in there.

  The front lobby was full of the infected from the stairwell, so we opted to go in through a ground floor apartment window, whichever one was furthest away from the hordes of scurrying monsters. We located a window on the southeast corner of the building that hadn’t been boarded up, and knocked it in with the stock of Thom’s shotgun. Nothing jumped out at us, so I went in first, with Thom and Isabel following behind me. We stalked around the apartment, checking all the nooks and crannies for anything or anyone, but there was nothing. In fact, the apartment barely had any furniture, so we figured it was a vacant rental. I went to the main door
and looked through the peephole, surveying the hallway through the fish-eye glass. There was no activity, so we opened the door and headed out.

  The stairwell door was just outside the apartment, so Thom opened that door and checked inside. This was the first stairwell we had gone down, and it seemed abandoned now. We sprinted up the stairs to the fourth floor entrance. I took a deep breath and opened the door a crack, glancing into the hallway. What I saw was a strange sight to behold. It seemed that dozens of infected had gathered in the hall, and small groups had formed outside every door that must have had someone still inside. They just sat motionless in huddled groups, waiting with a hungry patience that was truly unsettling. I closed the door and relayed the situation to the others. Any way you cut it, this was going to be messy. Our plan was to check the other stairwell, and then, if possible, come at them from both sides. Isabel and I stayed where we were and Thom went down one level to check the hallway of the third floor, trying to gain access to the other stairwell. We stood waiting in silence; there wasn’t much to say at this point.

  After a minute or so, Thom returned behind us, and told us the next two floors down were in the same state as the fourth. He also raised a valid point that if we started shooting, it might alert the infected on the other floors to come towards the noise, which would thoroughly screw our situation. There had to be a way to clear that hallway without firing a shot. The only thing we could come up with was to bait them somehow. We knew they would rabidly pursue anything alive, obsessively. The only bait we had was ourselves. After much deliberation, Thom volunteered to be the runner. Isabel and I would go up one flight of stairs and Thom would open the door and get their attention, then run down the four flights to the ground floor, get out the window we came in, and hide until things cooled down. Then we would rendezvous with him after we got Frank and the others out safely. It wasn’t a great plan but it was all we had right now. Isabel and I went up the stairs, me with the shotgun, Isabel with the pistol. Thom took the pistol that Frank had given us, and waited for the okay from us to open the door. We got in position and signaled to Thom. He whipped open the door and yelled into the hallway.