by Mark Tufo
As soon as the girls forced down the last bites of their bread, Sheila grinned and pulled out the can from behind her back.
Jenny’s eyes grew wide. “Peaches!”
Tasha slapped her sister’s arm. “Be quiet, you dummy.”
“Tasha,” Sheila scolded. “You do not hit your sister, and we don’t call people names.”
“Sorry, Mom,” her older daughter mumbled, lowering her eyes.
Jenny sulked as she rubbed the skin her sister had smacked. “I didn’t mean to say it so loud. I thought you forgot about your promise.”
“It’s okay,” Sheila said. “Just try to keep your voice down.” She spooned the peaches into two bowls, using her finger to scoop out every last drop of juice. Her mouth watered for a taste, but she pushed a bowl in front of each girl. “I’d never forget a promise. I just wanted to make sure you girls ate a full breakfast this morning. Now, take your time and enjoy your dessert.”
Sheila watched them as they ate, pure joy on their faces. Instead of joy, she felt a heavy weight had settled onto her chest. Last night had been a wake-up call. There’d be no more peaches. No more electricity. No more school. The infected hordes had staked their claim to the world outside the base, and the remaining uninfected were sorely outmatched.
The non-stop gunfire also meant that the numbers of infected had grown outside the perimeters. The soldiers were fighting the good fight, but she’d begun to fear they were also fighting a losing fight.
Since last night, Sheila carried the Glock on her. She’d taken one of Parker’s holsters and an ammo pouch and strung both onto her belt. The bulky weight at her hip felt strange, and she found herself continually readjusting, trying to find a more convenient placement.
“Mom, do you want one?” Tasha asked, holding out a peach slice on her spoon.
Sheila shook her head. “No, thank you, sweetie. I’m full.”
Tasha tutted. “Have it, Mom. Please.”
She smiled gently. “Okay.” She plucked the peach from the spoon and plopped the whole slice into her mouth. A tiny shot of juice sprayed from her mouth and onto Tasha’s arm.
Both girls giggled in response. Before long, their giggle fits had all three dribbling juice from their lips. For a brief moment, Sheila felt normal.
A distant explosion so big that it knocked a glass onto the floor shattered the moment.
“Mommy!” Jenny cried out.
Sheila grabbed each of her daughters’ hands. “It’s okay, sweeties. It sounds a lot closer than it really is.”
“It sounds really close,” Tasha said.
“I know it does,” her mother added on with soft words. She let go, bent down, and picked up the broken glass while fighting back the tears that came with emotional exhaustion.
After the hearty breakfast, they played hide-and-go-seek. While Sheila tried to make it fun, all three knew it was no game. The girls understood why they needed to hide, and Sheila’s heart ached at seeing how hard each girl worked to do a good job. She didn’t relent until she found Jenny asleep under the sink three hours after they began the game.
While the girls took their afternoon naps, Sheila watched the street from her living room windows. All that remained of last night’s violence was the dark stain in the middle of the street, but she knew another stain marred the steps outside her front door. She didn’t see or hear any infected, but she kept watching. When hardly any soldiers returned home, Sheila began to worry even more. She watched until the bright sun gave her a headache and the girls woke.
Sheila and the girls spent the remaining daylight setting up a shelter in the attic. The girls called it their treehouse—after all, they’d always wanted a treehouse—but it would be so much more than that. Sheila set out every container she could find in the house and filled it with water. She stored most of the water in the attic, but she also set containers in the “official” hiding spots around the house, such as behind the furnace and in the pantry.
Three sleeping bags were lined up on the floor. The attic was stuffy and hot, so they only spent the nights up there, but Sheila slept better in the attic than she had for weeks in her bedroom.
Up here, they were invisible.
Three mornings later, Sheila found herself pacing the living room and watching Kelli’s house. The girls hadn’t eaten in over a day, and their crabbiness was turning into lethargy—and that terrified Sheila. She knew that if anyone knew where extra food could be gotten, it would be Kelli Rasmussen.
She grabbed a bottle of wine and placed it in a tote. She double-checked to make sure her gun was loaded. “Sweeties, I’m going to run across the street to Mrs. Rasmussen’s. I won’t be gone for more than five minutes. How about you go up to the attic until I get back?”
Both girls’ eyes grew wide.
“You’re going outside?” Tasha asked.
“You can’t!” Jenny exclaimed, finding a hidden wellspring of energy. “The sick people—”
“I have to, girls. I promise I’ll be right back. Now, you’d better be ready for the word.” She paused before whispering out the code word with enthusiasm. “Supergirl!”
The girls scrambled to the attic stairs, but not before Tasha threw a hard look over her shoulder.
Leaving her girls alone tore her up inside, but she had no other choice. Friday had come and gone, and no trucks had delivered rations. If she didn’t find food and find it soon, they’d starve.
She slung the tote over her shoulder and strode to the front door. After scanning the area for a long moment, she unlocked the deadbolt and twisted the handle. She half-expected to be attacked as soon as she cracked the door open, but the only thing that had changed from when she was safely ensconced within her home was that the sounds of fighting were louder outside. She took a step over the threshold and felt her courage falter.
The noise of engines sent her jumping back inside and closing the door. Through the peephole, she watched a car zoom past, followed by an SUV. She watched them disappear in the distance. Do you know something I don’t know?
When all she could hear was the usual sounds of battle in the distance, she tiptoed down her front steps and jumped over the dark stain as though she were a skittish deer during hunting season. She glanced up at the clouds in a silent plea for rain to wash the stains away. When no torrents of water fell, she inhaled and continued. She held the Glock steady before her with both hands as she hustled across the street, giving the second stain a wide berth, and up the sidewalk to Kelli’s front door.
When she reached the door, she leaned against the wood and let out a deep breath. She rapped, the noise sounding as loud as the gunfire around her. When Kelli didn’t answer, Sheila frowned and knocked again. After endless seconds and still no answer, she tried the door. Locked. All the windows were open, and the breeze lightly blew the curtains. She tried to peer through gaps in the fabric but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
She threw a furtive glance around her. No signs of movement. She looked at the living room window and when she saw no heads peeking out, she was infused with the confidence she needed. She hustled around Kelli’s house and under the lean-to where an SUV sat covered in a layer of dust.
Sheila hopped up the single step to the side door and knocked on the glass. The window on the door was half covered by a curtain, and she peered inside to the kitchen. The table was set with fancy placemats as though it were about to be included in a photo shoot for Better Homes and Gardens.
Sheila tried the door handle and found it unlocked. She stepped inside. “Kelli?” Sheila called out softly. “It’s Sheila. Kelli? Are you here?”
Sheila shook her head. Kelli must’ve been on one of her daily strolls, no doubt still on the prowl for alcohol. Venturing out was going to get her neighbor killed. She glanced down at her tote and chuckled drily. That’s the pot calling the kettle black.
“Kelli? Yoo hoo.” When she received no response, she glanced into the living room, the floor plan a mirror image of Sheila’s hous
e. Accepting that she was alone in the house, Sheila returned to the kitchen. She stood for a long moment, debating whether she should wait or come back another time. The girls would begin to worry soon, and Sheila couldn’t risk them coming to look for her.
Sheila headed toward the door, grabbed the handle, and paused. She turned around and cocked her head. Just a little peek won’t hurt anyone.
She opened a cabinet door. Rows of glasses. Sheila scrunched her nose and opened the next cupboard. Plates. She opened the third and closed it in a rush, feeling like she’d been caught doing something wrong. She frowned, then slowly peered inside again. Boxes of prepackaged rations lined the shelves. As she checked the remaining cabinets, she found them filled with the same. There was enough food to feed a family for months. Kelli’s husband must’ve been sneaking home extra C-RATS every chance he had for the past year.
Kelli had had the gall to ask Sheila for food. “That bitch.”
Her teeth clenched. She unslung the tote, set it on the table, and holstered her gun. She took out the bottle of wine and filled the bag with the rations. She made damn sure she squeezed every package she could into the tote. When the bag was stuffed, she glanced at the bottle that sat on the table, next to the silk floral centerpiece. She smiled. “I’d call that an even trade.”
She gave another glance down the hall. “What else has Michael been sneaking home to his princess, I wonder?” she murmured.
Sheila slung the food over her shoulder as she walked casually down the hallway. In the bathroom, she found a stack of medical kits. She took one for herself. Then, she continued to the master bedroom. When she opened the door, she brought her hand up to her mouth, and the kit fell to the floor with a thud.
The room looked like it had been painted in blood. Bed sheets were shredded. A broken lamp lay on the floor. Body parts lay on the bed and on the floor. Bits of flesh and gore were sprinkled across the bed and on the wall. Clumps of blonde hair peeked out from the edge of the bed. A broken screen lay on the floor by the window left wide open.
Sheila ran.
— 5 —
Sheila couldn’t sleep. Visions of blood colored her thoughts. Her mind imagined a hundred different ways Kelli had met her doom. The image that flitted through her mind the most was a mental video of Kelli’s agony as she was torn apart piece by small piece. She imagined a monster scratching through Kelli’s abdomen, laughing while it ripped out her organs.
Sheila shivered. Every muscle in her body was taut, and she craved to toss and turn. Instead, she lay rock-still in her sleeping bag as if any movement would draw a monster to her.
Tasha and Jenny were sound asleep, despite the stifling heat in the attic. After returning from Kelli’s house, Sheila had reinforced the windows by stringing up of silverware and trinkets on twine cord behind every curtain. That way, if anything moved a window in even the slightest way, the homemade alarm system would alert Sheila and the girls.
A North Carolina house closed up in late springtime leaves a stale mugginess that saturates clothes, hair, and skin. The attic was nearly unbearable. Cold showers twice a day helped with the sweat and grime, but they were always sweaty again ten minutes later.
A heavy vehicle zoomed down the street, and artillery rocked the earth soon after. Dust flitted down from the insulation and wood frame above their heads.
Jenny shot up. “Mommy!”
“Sh, sh,” Sheila said, tugging her younger daughter into her arm. Distant, inhuman screams floated through the attic. God, it sounds like they’re right outside. Please, God, don’t let them find us!
Tasha pressed against Sheila. “Mom, I’m scared.”
Sheila pulled Tasha into her other arm and held both her daughters. “It’s okay, sweeties. I have you. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Despite the heat, they clung to one another. Her daughters relaxed in her embrace and eventually dozed off. She stared into the dark, listening to the gunfire and screams coming from all directions.
Deep in her gut, she knew it had finally happened.
They’d lost to the Hemorrhage Virus.
***
The Horns didn’t leave the attic for two days, with the sounds of violence always just outside. After dark on the second day, massive airplanes flew over.
It’s Operation Reaper. They’re going to bomb us now, too. Just like they did the cities.
She clutched her daughters, waiting for the fiery blast.
The bombs never came.
She had no idea what the planes had done, but over the next few hours, the sounds of artillery and gunfire and screams became less and less until silence reclaimed the base. It was odd to hear no sounds of battle—Sheila had grown accustomed to living in a war zone. She crept on her hands and knees to the attic entrance.
“Mom, what are you doing?” Tasha whispered harshly.
“I’m going to check on things. I’ll be right back.”
Jenny sat up straight. “But—”
Sheila held her forefinger to her lips. “Remember, why are we in the attic?”
“Because we’re invisible up here,” Jenny replied.
Sheila nodded. “Good girl.” She glanced to Tasha, who was clutching her doll. “You two stay quiet, and I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
Tasha’s bottom lip quivered, and Sheila turned away against the guilt for leaving her girls alone. Jenny was young enough that she couldn’t fully comprehend the dangers that awaited them outside. Conversely, the understanding was clear in Tasha’s eyes, and Sheila hated knowing that at least one of her daughters would be forever scarred and changed by memories of this catastrophe.
Sheila extended the ladder as quietly as she could, but gravity took over and the legs dropped to the floor with a solid thud. She cringed before frantically scanning the hallway for trouble. When nothing came at her, she let out the breath she’d been holding and climbed down the steps.
She pulled out her gun and searched the house. She found no signs of anything being disturbed. She checked the doors and windows and found them all still secure. She leaned against the wall and sighed.
A knock on the front door sent her nearly clawing onto the ceiling. She scrambled to make sure she had a round in the chamber and rushed forward. When she peered through the peephole, a tide of relief washed over her. She hustled to open the door. “You don’t know how good it is to see you, Private Vadreen.”
His eyes lit up. “You’re okay.”
She nodded. “We’ve been hiding in the attic.”
“Smart thinking,” he said, and added in a low tone. “A lot more folks should’ve been that smart.”
She frowned. “Tell me, how bad is it?”
He mirrored her frown. “It’s bad.”
After an uneasy silence, she tugged the sweaty shirt out from her chest. “I’m sorry. I imagine I’m a bit ripe.”
He smirked. “You’re a far sight better than any of the guys I’ve been around lately.”
She blushed and motioned him inside. “Would you like to come in? I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer in the way of food or drinks. Well, I have nothing to offer except wine, but you’re more than welcome to a bottle.”
He waved her off. “Thank you, but I’m just passing through. I need to get back to the barracks.”
“You’re not going home?”
His brow furrowed. He looked down and gave his head a slow shake.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said.
When he finally met her gaze, he shrugged. “We won. That’s what matters.”
She leaned against the door frame. “For a while there, I must admit, I thought we were on the losing side.”
“Didn’t we all,” he added. “We took one hell of a beating, but we whooped their asses. Sorry for my language. President Mitchell sent out every C130 the flyboys had, they filled them up with some kind of magic dust, and everyone released their payload. I’m not sure how it worked, but evidently it poisoned anyone who’d b
een infected, wiping them out.”
Goosebumps covered Sheila’s sweaty skin. “They’re all gone?”
“Every last one of them. Well, it’s still working its magic. Most have scampered off to die in dark corners, but yeah, it seems to have worked. We’ll be in the clear in no time.”
She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. We’re safe. Parker would be home soon. Everything would be fine, just like she’d promised her girls.
An animalistic scream in the distance was echoed by gunfire.
Sheila snapped her eyes open. Private Vadreen twisted around, grabbing for his rifle. The gunfire continued, followed by a grenade blast. When he turned back to her, his expression had sobered. “You’d better stay inside.”
— 6 —
As things turned out, the infected hadn’t all died. Only most of them died. The ones who survived seemed angrier than ever. Sheila remained in the attic with her girls, coming down only once when Private Vadreen dropped off a couple jugs of water and rations when the water quit running two days earlier.
Sheila had drilled dozens of peepholes through the attic walls, both to let in fresh air and so she could have a visual connection with the outside world. Without the peepholes, she’d go crazy. If the sounds of the screams, shouts, and gunfire were any indication, Fort Bragg was making its final stand.
The three females stayed plastered to their tiny windows. A good mother would hide her daughters from the horrors taking place outside. A good mother wouldn’t let them see the infected hunt down the soldiers in the streets and tear into them. By the third day, Sheila no longer had the energy to keep scolding them to get away from the peepholes when they had nothing else to look at in the barren attic.
Army trucks plowed down some of the infected, and soldiers laid down automatic fire on those still standing, but still too many escaped. As Sheila watched, she tried to find weaknesses in the infected, but the truth was, she couldn’t.