by A. R. Wise
The helper was unconcerned with them as he entered the parking lot. Red stepped aside as the helper approached, a steak knife dripping blood in his hand. The helper looked at Red, grinned, and said, “You’ve gotta help ‘em.” He knelt, and callously stuck his knife into the corpse. “Even if you think they’re dead.” He stood back up, looked at Red, and his grin faded.
Red stood paralyzed, mere feet from the helper.
The man looked to be in his mid-forties, wearing a black t-shirt stretched to accommodate a sizeable spare tire. Red suspenders were taut over his belly. His eyes were bloodshot. Tears streaked his cheeks. He stared at Red, and then said, “You need help.”
“No, no, no,” said Red with his hands out to stop the man from lunging.
“I can help you.” He swiped at Red’s hand, only barely missing it. “Come here. It won’t hurt.” He stabbed at Red’s naked chest, but his thrust was knocked away.
June flanked their attacker, and then shoved him towards one of the tents. The helper lost his footing, and tumbled into the green fabric. The weight of his body ripped the panel loose from its anchor, causing the front-left portion of the tent to fall in. He hit the ground, but wasn’t deterred. He got to his knees, and was about to stand when Red delivered a punishing kick to his chin. The helper fell backward, and his knife flew into the stacks of supplies protected by the tent.
The helper was unconcerned with his injury, and determined to infect Red and June. He searched for his knife as blood dripped from his split lip. He smeared blood on his hands, and then gave up on the search for his weapon. He stared madly at Red. “Come here.”
“Fuck that,” said Red before kicking one of the tent’s support poles loose, causing the roof to fall in. The helper charged, but was caught behind the collapsing fabric. Red grabbed the right side of the tent’s entrance and yanked it in, causing more of the heavy fabric to envelop the man.
“Watch out,” said June as she went past Red carrying something black and metallic. He stared at the weapon, uncertain what it was, and then heard a sickening thud as she struck the trapped helper. As she reeled back to strike again, Red saw she had a crowbar. The first few hits didn’t deter the relentless helper, but by the sixth time she struck him he was on the ground, unmoving.
“Come on,” said Red, eager to escape.
June struck down a seventh time, thudding the crowbar against the motionless lump under the tent. Red took her by the arm as she rose to strike again.
“Let’s go.” He pulled her away.
Rain drops pecked the concrete, bringing the unmistakable scent of a storm.
June said breathlessly, “There’s no way out. We’re gonna die here. They’re gonna get us, Red.”
A flashlight had fallen to the ground, its light aimed at the concrete wall on the far side of the parking lot, past a row of tents. The rain fell faster, thwapping against the fabric tents, wetting June’s blonde hair. It hid her tears.
“No they’re not,” said Red, sensing her near-collapse. Hopelessness threatened to subdue her.
The sky was hazed orange by the growing flames on the other side of the school. Smoke filled the halls, clouding the space they’d left behind.
“June,” he grasped her biceps with either hand and held her steady face to face. “We’re going to be okay. I promise.”
Her vision darted from him to her victim, hidden beneath the tent, and then back again. “We can’t keep up like this. They’re everywhere. If the Army can’t stop them, what chance do we have?”
“We’re still alive, aren’t we?” he asked. “As long as we stick together we’ve got a shot. We make a good team.” He kissed her on the forehead.
A pained groan interrupted them. They looked to the collapsed tent as the man moved. Raindrops struck the fabric, and rolled down the curves caused by their victim’s body as he shifted. June tensed, and tried to pull away from Red to return and finish the helper off. He stopped her when he saw flashlights glowing within the smoke that filled the school’s hall.
“We’ve gotta go, now.”
“Go where?” she asked. “We can’t get out of here.”
He led her between the tents, away from the school and towards one of the concrete barriers that’d been erected around the camp. The barriers were ten feet tall, with looped razor wire spanning the top. There was no break in the wall. The only exit from this makeshift courtyard was back through the school.
“Hello?” asked someone entering the walled-off parking lot. “Who’s out here?”
Red got down on one knee, and then looked pointedly at June. He patted a hand on his high knee, and said, “Climb up.”
“I can’t,” she whispered as the rain fell faster. “There’s barbed wire.”
“You’re going to have to.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll make it out. You go first, and run into that neighborhood. Find a place to hide. Don’t wait for me. Just run.”
“No, I’m not going to…”
“Now, June.” Red looked over his shoulder, back towards the school where more helpers had come to investigate. Several tents blocked his view, but he could hear the men and women pulling away the felled tent that covered their fellow helper.
“No, I’m not leaving you.”
“I can feel it, June. I can feel the infection in me.” Lying was the best way to convince her to leave. “I think I’m turning into one of them.”
She shook her head in disbelief.
“Go, now,” he said.
“You’re lying. Right?”
He didn’t answer.
“Red, tell me you’re lying.”
The helpers were opening tents in search of survivors.
Red pleaded, “Go.”
June stepped on Red’s knee. He gripped her waist to steady her. She braced her hands on the slick concrete wall and looked up, fearful of the razor wire.
“You’ve got to do it,” said Red as he started to lift her up. He was able to stand, and she put her feet on his shoulders while struggling to push aside the razor wire. It clattered. The sound seemed as loud as a church bell.
“What was that?” asked one of the helpers.
Beams of light focused on the wall, searching for the source of the sound, and then settling on June. The high tents hid Red, but she was exposed.
June lifted herself and locked her elbows while raising a foot in a precarious attempt to gain purchase. She whimpered as the razor wire cut her arms.
“There, get her,” shouted helpers who ran towards June.
She looked back down at Red. Their eyes locked as she stood perched upon the wall, the rain matting her hair to her cheeks. Blood trickled down her arms.
Red mouthed a command as he backed away, “Go.”
The helpers were nearly to them, their lights bobbing in the darkness as their feet splashed in growing puddles of rain and blood.
June leapt clumsily over the razor wire, tearing her pants in the process. She landed with a loud thud on wet pavement. Red moved around the corner of a nearby tent, hoping to stay out of sight.
“She got over,” said a helper. “Someone go get her. If there’s anyone on the other side of this wall, there’s a girl who needs help.” The helper waved his hands in the air, along with the flashlight, hoping to get the attention of a nearby helper who could get to June.
Red snuck further away, and tried to avoid the helpers as they searched the lot. He kept close to the back of the tents on the other side of the walled off area, and headed towards the school. The helpers were focused on the opposite side, near where June had escaped. Two of them were trying to scale the wall the same way that June had.
All that stood between Red and the school was the partially collapsed tent and the helper who June had pummeled with a crowbar. The man in red suspenders stood on wobbly legs, his head gushing blood faster than the rain could wash away. His brow was split by a deep, purple gash, and his right eye was swollen shut. He looked like a boxe
r who should’ve thrown in the towel four rounds ago.
Rain pounded, filling the uneven, cracked pavement with puddles. Lightning erupted the scene in electric white, stealing the shadows for a millisecond – just long enough for the helper to see Red.
He didn’t charge, but instead stared uncertainly at Red, as if trying to make sure it wasn’t a ghost in the darkness.
A long, tense moment followed the lightning, and then thunder rolled, slow and foreboding across the midnight sky. Its rumble lasted as the helper walked Red’s way, blocking the only path back into the school.
“You’re him,” said the helper as he pointed at Red. “You’re the one who needs help.”
Day Four – 1:03 am
Red rushed the helper.
“He’s here!” shouted the man in the red suspenders.
The fragile, wounded man tried to attack Red, but his ravaged body stood little chance against the towering survivor. Red knocked the helper back into the collapsed tent, and out of his way, but that didn’t mean he was safe. Now the attention of every helper in the parking lot was on him.
Red went back to the school, and threw open one of the glass doors as the helpers screamed for him to stop. Smoke wafted out, as if it’d been pressed against the door waiting for an opportunity to escape. When he went inside, the smoke seemed to consume him, swallowing him in an ethereal embrace that he pushed through, but couldn’t escape. He held his breath, but the smoke blinded him. He stumbled into a wall, and searched for a hallway as he ducked to get lower than the gathered smoke.
The doors opened again, and air whooshed forcefully out, taking with it a gust of smoke. The infected entered, screaming promises that it wouldn’t hurt, and that they just wanted to help.
Red found the same hall that he’d come through with June, and headed back down it. He ducked as low as he could while still moving fast and quiet.
“Don’t let him get away!”
The helpers hurried through the hall, fast and loud. Red moved into an alcove, and tried to open a classroom door, but found it locked. He pressed himself to the corner, held his breath, and cringed in fright as the helpers neared.
They ran through the hall, wildly slashing at the air, blinded by the smoke and their refusal to kneel. It was as if the compulsion to help overwhelmed their desire to stay out of the smoke. They had no fear of suffocation, and rampaged without concern. Soon they were coughing between screamed offers of help.
“Please let us help you,” said a straggler, standing only feet from Red but yards behind his brethren. He stabbed at the smoke, uncertain and unconcerned with where the blade struck.
Red’s lungs burned. He couldn’t hold his breath much longer.
The helper coughed, and stopped. He blocked Red’s escape from the alcove.
Red put his shirt over his nose, and pressed his hand against his mouth. He knelt, sliding his back down the cold wall until his head was lower than the gathered smoke. He dared to let out a slow breath. Unfortunately, his aching lungs refused to let him be quiet. He gasped as the toxic air filled him. The helper heard.
“Who’s there?”
Red could see the helper’s legs and feet below the smoke. The man turned his way. A knife swiped through the air above Red’s head, colliding with the corner of the alcove. Blood splattered from the blade’s edge.
Red rose up with his elbows out, aiming for the helper’s midsection. He drove forward with punishing speed and intent, pushing the man back before he had a chance to recover. Seconds later, the helper was falling against the opposite wall and crumbling to the floor, dazed and hurt, but still conscious.
“Here,” the helper tried to scream, but his voice was little more than a gasp. His knife had fallen, and he scrambled to retrieve it. Red kicked the weapon away, deeper into the smoky hall.
“Let me help,” said the man weakly. He reached out, but Red retreated back towards the parking lot.
The beaten, bloody man in red suspenders was staring in through the glass doors, searching for any sign of his attacker. Red saw him, and kicked open the door the man stood behind, knocking the savaged helper back to the ground.
Red followed the wall of windows and doors until he was past the cordoned section. He checked for another exit. The rest of the doors to the parking lot were chained, but there was a set of solid double doors at the end of the hall. He ran for them.
“He’s here,” shouted the wounded, bloody helper who came into the hall from the parking lot.
Red reached the doors, but the first one he tried was locked.
“Fuck!”
He went to the next, expecting it to be locked as well. To his surprise and relief, the door opened, revealing a sidewalk lined with hedges that led to the street. He escaped into the rain as the helper screamed after him.
The neighborhood was besieged by noise and flashing red and blue lights, as if he’d staggered onto the outskirts of a riot. The helpers were finishing off the fleeing soldiers, doctors, and civilians who thought this was a safe zone.
The rain and dark skies helped hide him as he made it across the street to a battered gas station, its windows shattered and its stock pilfered. Blood seeped from beneath the door, and Red had no desire to discover why. He walked across broken glass as he edged his way along the side of the building, then past a leaking ice cooler. When he bumped into the cooler, liquid sloshed.
A propane cage had been broken into, and all the canisters were missing. As he walked past it, he saw a vehicle approaching, it’s lights blooming in the smoke.
He cursed quietly, and looked for a place to hide. The cooler’s lock had been broken, and he opened one of the silver lids. It would be a tight fit, but plausible. The cooler had formerly been filled with bags of ice, but now the deflated plastic sat atop a pool of water. As he entered, he was surprised to discover there was still some ice floating amongst the plastic, and that the water was bone-chilling. It was too late to reconsider, so he closed himself into the insulated box, and waited for the car to pass.
Ice water soaked him from the waist down as he knelt inside the tight confines. He hadn’t shut the slanted door all the way in fear of it locking him in, and the small gap allowed him to hear the car’s tires as they passed slowly over the pavement. Then he heard a man shouting.
“Stop! There’s one near here. He’s out that way.” The sloppy, wet words came from the man in red suspenders. His battered, bloody face made it hard for him to speak, but he managed to get the attention of the helper in the car. The brakes squealed as the car came to a stop, and then a door opened and closed.
Red sank deeper into the icy water and mouthed a silent curse.
“Where is he?” asked a woman.
“That way,” said the beaten helper.
Red’s teeth chattered, and he bit down hard to keep them steady.
The running car masked the helper’s footsteps until they were practically beside him. The searcher crunched through the broken glass at the station’s entrance. She neared, and Red sat unable to stop his body from shivering.
“He must’ve gone that way,” said the woman, and she dashed away.
The car was still running, and Red couldn’t be certain if the helper had abandoned it. But he couldn’t sit in the freezing water any longer either. He lifted the lid, and hastily stood, eager to get out.
“He’s here!”
The beaten, bloody man with the swollen eye and split forehead was standing only a few feet away. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side as he pointed at Red with his right. He screamed to get anyone’s attention, and then ran towards his prey.
Red’s legs had stiffened from the ice water bath, and it caused his exit from the container to be far from graceful. He fell out, and his wet legs slapped against the pavement. He bounded up again, and drove his shoulder into the stomach of the man in the red suspenders. The helper was knocked off his feet and thrown to the road as Red raced to the squad car.
“Wait,” shouted the
woman as she came at him.
He ignored her and hurried to the car. She assaulted him, stabbing with an ice pick that barely missed his cheek. The pick jabbed into the headrest, smearing infected blood on the plastic. Red tried to push her away, but the woman was determined and furious. She clawed at his arm, and held on as the vehicle started moving. The car beeped an alarm to warn that the door was ajar as they drove off.
She was older, and wore extensive make-up that’d been smeared by tears and blood. Her ruby red lipstick was as thick as paint, and her teeth were varying shades of yellow and black. She pleaded with him to let her help, all while stabbing at him with the ice pick. He caught her wrist, twisted, and shoved her as he sped up. She tried to run alongside the car, but lost her footing. She grasped his arm as the ice pick fell from her grip.
His attention was on her, and not the road. He didn’t see that he was swerving left. The open door slammed against a telephone pole, shutting it on the old woman and painfully ending her attack. She rolled away, most likely dead, and the door creaked as Red pulled it shut.
“Fuck!” He screamed in anger, pain, elation, and fright.
He turned at the next street, and scanned the area for any sign of June.
“Where are you, babe?” he asked aloud as he rolled slowly down the street. The school was beside a neighborhood, and June might’ve escaped between any number of two-story homes that lined the street. There were bodies in the road, but all of them were soldiers and police. The was no sign of June among the dead.
Ahead, at an intersection a few houses down, there was a crowd of helpers gathered. His headlights reflected off their blades. When he stopped his approach, they turned their attention to him. His hesitancy alerted them that he needed help. The mob gathered, and began shining flashlights in his direction.
“You can go fuck yourselves,” he said before putting the car in reverse and backing up into a planned three-point turn. Another helper thudded against his rear end, and climbed onto the back of the squad car. He banged an axe on the back window, but the glass didn’t shatter.