Aberdeen

by James Bierce

  "His name was Larry, but I don't remember his sister's name — or the girl's.

  "Beth and Amanda?" This time, when she glances back, she sees Curtis quickly catching up.

  "Yes, Beth, that was the sister — but Amanda doesn't sound right."

  "Wait!" Curtis says, stopping all of them just a few feet from the edge of the pasture, where the gravel farm road runs north-south along the hills. "How old was this girl?"

  "I don't know, maybe fifteen or sixteen."

  "Is she still alive?"

  "I don't know, she was the last time I saw her. Why, do you know her?"

  "Yeah, we know her."

  CHAPTER 9

  East of Cohassett Beach: March 29th

  Rachel can sense that the mood has changed dramatically in the group since hearing about their former companions, and although they seem sincere when they talk about her, Rachel's own impressions of the girl traveling with them was quite different. Curtis seems especially withdrawn, looking down at the road only a few feet ahead of him instead of at the picturesque forests and pastures that surround them — a landscape that would ordinarily look serene, if not for all of the deadly threats that could be lurking somewhere just beyond their sight.

  Although she liked Sarah right away, she's still not sure what to think of Curtis. She completely understands the pressure that both of them are under, trying to protect their children from everything that's happening around them — but she can see cracks forming in his ability to control himself, and she wonders how long it will take before he allows those primitive temptations to take over. Everyone has their limit, that fine line that separates us from the animalistic behavior of our ancient ancestors. Curtis, for all of his good intentions, seems on the verge of reaching his.

  The boys are quiet, but it's hard for her to determine whether or not they've always been that way. Ben had a look of absolute horror on his face at the mere mention of Amanda's name, and he hasn't spoken in the forty minutes since. Instead, he's spent nearly the entire time looking behind the group, toward the fading town of Grayland in the distance. When she glances back to check on him again, she sees him standing in the middle of the gravel road, facing away from them.

  "Ben, are you okay?" Rachel asks. He doesn't respond, but she can hear the footsteps of the others stop.

  "What's wrong, Ben?" Sarah asks, as she walks back and kneels beside him. "Do your feet still hurt?"

  "There's someone back there — I saw them a minute ago…" he replies.

  "What did they look like?"

  Rachel looks back at the road they've just hiked, which has very few twists or turns, but doesn't see any sign of movement. It does, however, have trees and brush alongside much of it, providing plenty of spots for someone to hide.

  "There was more than one of them," Ben says, pointing his finger straight ahead. "There they are!"

  The others look again, and see several figures appearing out of a dip in the road, no more than a half-mile behind them. While not running, they are moving at a pace that will allow them to catch up rather quickly.

  "Should we hide?" Rachel asks, looking around at the few trees that are sparsely scattered around them.

  "No," Curtis says, looking north on the road ahead of them. "There's a bend coming up — we'll try to lose them on the other side of it."

  "There's at least four of them," Sarah says.

  Rachel can't pick out any distinguishing features on them from this distance, but they resemble many of the hunters from Grayland. They move and act almost normally, and wear clothing that covers their entire body — unlike the typical infected person that always seems to be only partially dressed, regardless of the weather or temperature.

  Moving more quickly than before, Rachel and the Lockwoods head north again, seeing the curve just ahead of them as the road runs through the middle of a farm — complete with a small house, a couple of old sheds, and a massive barn that has a broken spine in the middle of the roof. Curtis looks back at the hunters and sees that they've gained some ground, but they're still probably at least ten minutes behind them. They go around the curve in the road, which takes them out of sight, and then cut across the yard in front of the farmhouse, seeing a wide open front door and trash littering the entryway.

  "Should we risk going in there?" Sarah asks. "There could be someone inside."

  "We don't really have a choice," Curtis says, as he hurries onto the front porch and briefly scans the living room from the doorway.

  After everyone enters the house, Curtis, Sarah and Rachel quickly close not only the door, but also all of the curtains on the front facing windows — leaving the room relatively dark as they crowd together in one corner of the room, hidden from even the windows in the back of the home. Curtis leans over and peeks through a small slit beside the curtains and looks out at the road, and after a few minutes he sees four people approach the end of the driveway, and then stand at the end of it, staring in his direction.

  "They're just standing there…" he whispers, still looking at the road as something crashes loudly in one of the back rooms.

  "What was that?" Sarah asks.

  "I think there's somebody in the house," Rachel replies.

  "Curtis, give me the gun…" Sarah says, holding her hand out to him as he hands the pistol over. Rachel bends down and takes the kitchen knife out of her bag, then joins Sarah as she slowly makes her way back to the bedroom where the noise originated. Seeing another open door in front of them, Sarah leans over and whispers into Rachel's ear. "I'm gonna open the door, and if anything comes out of there, kill it."

  Taking in a deep breath, she grabs onto the doorknob and pulls it open, aiming the gun around the room frantically before seeing two glowing eyes coming from underneath the bed. Feeling relieved, she shines the flashlight inside and sees two raccoons hiding under the box-springs. Joining her husband next to the window again, she leans forward and stares outside.

  "Where are they?" she asks.

  "They moved on. What was in the other room?"

  "Raccoons."

  He looks at his watch, which shows almost four o' clock in the afternoon. "We should stay here for the night, then take off at first light."

  "Do you think they'll be back?"

  "They'll be back." Rachel says. "These ones aren't stupid like the others."

  Sarah hasn't seen as many houses as Curtis has, or Rachel for that matter — but she's seen enough to know that every one of them tells a different story. Some are still occupied by their infected owners, or contain the remains of what's left of them — others lie dormant as if they've been empty for decades, and others, like this one, show signs of a stubborn will to survive. The person who lived here before was meticulous and organized, keeping the garbage cleaned up and the canned foods kept in tidy alphabetized rows with expiration dates that are clearly marked on the label. Judging from the amount of empty jars and cans stacked up on the back porch, it seems they must have lived for some time after the outbreak. When Curtis told her that there was a body in the bedroom, one that had been there for some time, she immediately assumed that it was yet another suicide — but what she saw instead was just as troubling. Surrounding the body, looking almost like a shrine, is a mountain of cold and flu medications, along with thermometers, blood pressure cuffs, and bottles of hand sanitizers. Whoever they were, they certainly wanted to survive — and yet perished long after most of the world was already gone.

  The house that they left behind, although somewhat drafty, is extraordinarily well-kept considering the circumstances. If not for the close proximity to the towns, Sarah would actually be tempted to stay for a while, if for no other reason than to allow Ben's feet to rest.

  After covering all of the windows and barricading the doors to the best of their abilities, the group decides to sleep in shifts in one of the upstairs bedrooms for the night, while the others keep watch in another room across the hallway where they have a clear view of both the road out front, and the town to t
he southwest. Seeing the tired look in Curtis' eyes, Sarah informed him after dinner that she and Rachel would take the first watch, while he and Matt could take the second.

  "Do you ever wonder why you never got sick?" Sarah asks Rachel, while each of them sit in front of separate windows and stare into the darkening landscape of dusk.

  "I used to, but not anymore. I was certainly exposed to it enough when Travis got sick."

  "I've wondered if we're all immune for some reason, like some rare gene that was passed on or something."

  "I know that I should be grateful," Rachel says. "That I've been given this incredibly rare gift, but deep down I know that I should have died with him."

  "Rachel…" Sarah says soothingly, turning toward her.

  "Instead, I'm sitting here, hiding like some scared, defenseless animal that's being hunted."

  "I know, but we'll find someplace quiet — I know we will."

  "There's no life in Olympia, Sarah — there just isn't. The best case scenario is that we hide out there until the rest of mankind kills one another — and then what?"

  "We start picking up the pieces." Sarah can't see the expression on her face, it's too dark — but she can hear her chuckle dismissively. "I know you think I'm being overly optimistic, but we've met some good people over the last few months, and the only reason that any of them are gone now is because we haven't been willing to make hard decisions."

  "Travis made a hard decision, and now he's gone."

  "But you aren't…" Sarah replies, watching Rachel stand up and look behind her, distracted by something out the window. "What's wrong?"

  "Behind you… that's Grayland, isn't it?"

  Turning around again, Sarah looks out across the pastures and forests and sees several bright orange spots on the horizon, each of them sending large plumes of black smoke and glowing embers into the night sky.

  "It looks like half the town is on fire," Sarah says.

  "That girl said that South Bend was on fire too."

  "Which girl? Amanda?"

  "That name still doesn't sound right — but yeah, she said it was all gone when they came by there."

  "Amanda lived in Westport — that's where we found her."

  "Well, then it wasn't her that I met."

  Confused about what must have happened in those short couple of days after Larry and Beth left the cabin, Sarah continues watching out the window at the growing intensity in the distance, then notices some slight movements in the foreground, in the pasture across the street. "Rachel, do you see something in the field over there?"

  "Yeah, I think so, but it's too dark to tell for sure."

  A few moments later, they both realize that they're looking at people crossing over the field and into the woods on the other side — toward the town of Grayland. None of them are walking with any coordination or speed, and some of them are stumbling so badly that they're practically crawling across the tall grass.

  "Did you hear that?" Rachel asks.

  Before she has a chance to answer, Sarah hears a thump, like something is hitting the side of the house. "Yeah, I do. Stay here for a minute, I'm gonna check the other side of the house really quick."

  "You might wanna wake Curtis while you're up."

  Exiting the room, Sarah tiptoes past the bedroom where her family is sleeping, then walks down the hallway to another room that faces north. She's halfway across the floor, trying not to step on anything on the hardwood, when she finally looks up and sees somebody standing next to the window. Taking a couple of steps backward, she sees them turn around and face her, then stare back out the window again.

  "Look at this…" Curtis says, motioning her closer.

  She stands next to him, still feeling her heart pounding — then she feels him take her hand as she looks outside. Heading directly at them, moving south from the direction of Westport, is a line of people that extends into the darkness.

  "How many are there?"

  "I don't know, they just keep coming."

  CHAPTER 10

  Aberdeen: March 30th

  Dressed in warm, dry clothes, and armed with several guns, Larry walks into the waiting area and expects to see Christine still sleeping on the hospital bed in front of the windows. She moved it there from one of the other rooms the previous evening after the incident on the second floor, telling Larry and Mike that the view made her feel more comfortable somehow — like she wasn't trapped.

  Instead, he sees her sitting in the bed and staring out the window, looking out at a massive plume of smoke that's billowing up from the south. It's still early, with the first trace of sunlight barely visible through the clouds and rain over the horizon, but he can clearly tell that the fire is spread out across a wide area, stretching from somewhere around Grayland and extending south for miles beyond. He approaches her, noticing that she's still sleeping in the same filthy, worn out clothes that she had on when they first met. Sitting down in a chair next to the bed, he watches with her as the strong wind coming off of the ocean carries the smoke and ash in their direction.

  "I can already smell it," she says, sniffing the air.

  "What, the smoke?"

  "Yeah, it doesn't smell like woodsmoke — it smells like buildings, and garbage."

  He breathes in deeply, taking the polluted air into his lungs. She's right, there is something peculiar about the smell, but he's not quite sure what to make of it. He can't imagine an accidental fire spreading like that, not with the rain soaking everything like it has over the past several months.

  "Are you getting ready to take off?" she asks, finally turning around and facing him.

  "I think so — I'm just waiting for Mike to get out of the bathroom. He's pretty nervous about it."

  "He should be." She faces the window again, looking down at the streets below the hospital. "Those buildings still have people in them, Larry. I've seen them after the sun goes down."

  "I know, I've seen them too. There aren't a lot of them though, not like we've seen in the past."

  "Just make sure you watch your back — you can't trust him to do it. He hasn't seen what it's like out there."

  "Is that the South Bend fire behind it?" he asks, pointing out the window at an even bigger wall of smoke and haze rising from the south and heading northeast by the wind current.

  "Yeah, it must be. It looks huge, doesn't it?"

  "Could you guys come here for a minute?" they hear Mike say from the hallway behind them. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about…"

  Larry and Christine look at each other, both of them hearing the nervousness in his voice. When they reach the ICU desks, their surfaces bathed in bright white light from the fluorescent tubes above, they see Mike standing behind the counter, his forehead covered in sweat.

  "What's wrong?" Larry asks, seeing Mike wearing his hospital scrubs again instead of the winter coat and jeans that he had on earlier.

  "You know where we're going, right?"

  "Sure, more or less. Why?"

  "Are you going out in that outfit?" Christine asks. "You're gonna freeze to death."

  Mike looks down at himself, then takes a few excited steps toward her, causing her to back up slightly in response. "I'll be fine, the cold doesn't really bother me all that much. I am a little concerned about you though, staying here all by yourself. You have a gun on you though, right?"

  "Yeah — well, it's…" Christine reaches into her pocket, then remembers that she left it sitting on the bed.

  Mike leaps forward in a flash, grabbing Christine from behind and placing her in a choke hold, then he positions her between Larry and himself. She struggles with him for just a moment, and then suddenly stops when he presses his pistol into her temple.

  "Let her go!" Larry screams, aiming his own gun at Mike as he takes a few steps closer to them.

  "If you come any closer, I'm gonna pull the trigger — I mean it!" Mike responds, tightening his grip on her neck. "Nobody has to get hurt — not if you do what I say."r />
  After hearing the gun shaking in Mike's trembling hand, and the hammer on the gun pulled back and ready to fire, Larry stops moving forward and chooses to deescalate the situation instead. "I don't want to hurt anybody either, but if you keep that gun aimed at her head like that, something is going to happen — even if it's only an accident…"

  "If you go now, I won't hurt her, I promise."

  "Go where?"

  "The supply center, just get me my medication and I'll let both of you go." He presses the gun into Christine's head even harder, making her wince from the pain. "I can't go out there, I'll get killed if I do."

  The last thing Larry wants to do is leave Christine with him, especially after her experiences with Amanda and Jake, but he can also see both the determination and desperation in Mike's eyes, and he's almost certain that he'll at least try to kill both of them if he doesn't leave.

  Christine, whose face is reddened by her restricted airway, tries to say something to Larry, and Mike eases his arm up just enough for her to speak. "Larry, go… I'll be fine…"

  "Listen to her, Larry, she'll be fine — you both will…" Mike tells him, his voice more frantic than ever.

  Putting his gun away, Larry slowly backs up toward the staircase, stopping just in front of the door. "What if the supply center is burned down? What then?"

  "You'll figure something out."

  "Let her go as soon as I leave, understand?"

  "You have my word."

  He turns the handle on the door and starts to open it, then faces Mike again. "If you hurt her, I'll come back and burn this fucking place to the ground…"

  The moment that Larry closes the door and begins walking down the stairs, he can feel his chest begin to tighten from the stress of what he's about to do, not to mention the horrible situation that he's left Christine in. When he gets about halfway down to the fifth floor, he can hear the door upstairs lock, and then everything goes quiet — until he reaches the second floor again. The door is still closed and locked, but the window in the top of it is shattered, and the broken shards of glass are covered in blood from the man that Larry shot the day before. Somewhere inside, down the corridor or in one of the rooms off of it, he can hear someone laughing — a slow, maniacal shriek that he mistook for pain when he first heard it. He only glances through the opening when he passes by it, seeing nothing but darkness on the other side.