Escape the Virus

by Ryan Westfield

  Matt hadn't had a choice.

  He'd told the man to back down. He'd told him to leave.

  But instead of backing down, the intruder had drawn a gun.

  That's when Matt had pulled the trigger.

  Matt's body felt shaky from all the adrenaline. It reminded him of getting low blood sugar once when he'd been hiking all day without any food to speak of.

  “I didn't have a choice,” Matt found himself saying. “I couldn't have done it any differently...”

  “You did the right thing,” said someone behind him.

  The door was still open. Busted open.

  Matt stood just behind the opened doorway.

  Jamie had rushed forward to try to get Mia off of Matt. Her hands were around Mia. “Come on, Mia,” she was saying. “We've got to move.

  Mia just wailed louder, apparently completely disoriented, apparently completely unaware of her surroundings.

  The dead man was lying on the concrete stoop.

  Matt stared at him. Stunned.

  He'd never, in his wildest imagination, thought that he'd actually have to shoot someone.

  Sure, he'd gone to the range. He'd bought a gun. He'd mentally prepared himself for the possibility. He'd told himself that he might have to do it some day, that he might have to kill someone.

  He'd thought that he'd been prepared for killing. And, in a way, he had been. He'd been able to pull the trigger. He hadn't frozen the way some people did.

  But the aftereffects were what he hadn't prepared for.

  But he could dig himself out of this.

  He needed to dig himself out of this.

  Still, he remained frozen. Just standing there.

  The dead man coughed. A horrible, weak, sick cough.

  Apparently he wasn't dead.

  Blood came out of the dead man's mouth and splattered on the concrete that he lay on.

  Matt acted. He stepped forward swiftly, Mia falling to the wayside, and he stooped down and took the man's gun from him.

  Matt's bullet had hit the man in the throat and neck area. The man's neck had exploded. Blood was everywhere. The inside of his throat was exposed and visible.

  Matt couldn't believe he was alive. It didn't make sense.

  The man's chest was rising and falling ever so slightly.

  It looked like the world's worst surgeon had cut open the man's throat with a dull scalpel, tossing the pieces aside casually, letting them fall on the concrete stoop.

  The others apparently hadn't noticed that the intruder was still alive.

  “She's on drugs,” Damian was saying. “She told me she was on a bunch of pills or something.”

  “Pills? Not again, Mia. Come on, we'd better make her throw up. I thought she was over all this.”

  “She's on pills? That poor thing. Is she an addict?”

  “Who cares if she's an addict? She did this to herself.”

  “She's not an addict.”

  The dying man coughed again. With each labored breath, blood from his throat was splattering out into the air.

  “I've got to kill him,” said Matt, speaking to no one in particular. Maybe he was speaking to himself.

  “He's not dead?”

  “You shot him. Matt, come on back inside.”

  Matt didn't want to waste another round. Who knew how many more he'd need.

  “Oh, shit, he's still alive!” It was Damian's voice.

  Mia was still wailing.

  “I can't look at it. That's disgusting!”

  Someone else made a retching noise, as if they were throwing up. It might have been Jamie.

  Matt knelt down, his shoes not far from the dying man's head. Reaching into his back pocket, he took out his folding knife.

  With his gun still in one hand, he flicked open the knife with his thumb.

  Matt had never been squeamish about blood the way some were. When he'd visited his friend's farm once, he'd killed a couple chickens and even a goat. Just a way to help out, since it'd been slaughter day. The way Matt saw it, that was just part of life.

  But even so, he winced a little internally as he ran the blade's edge across the man's already slit-open throat.

  More blood.

  A small, strange noise.

  The man's slight breathing stopped.

  Behind him, Mia wailed.

  “Help me get her into the kitchen.”

  Suddenly, Damian appeared next to Matt. “Shit,” he muttered. “He's dead.”

  “Yes,” said Matt simply. “He's dead.”

  “He's really dead,” said Damian, his voice sounding kind of faint and strange.

  Matt didn't say anything

  Suddenly, Damian turned, leaned over, and vomited.

  The vomiting made Matt think of the virus. “I almost forgot about the virus,” he said. “I'd better check...”

  Matt wiped his knife off on the dead man's dirty jeans. He got most of the blood off, but some of it remained in the joint. Matt pocketed the knife before crouching down again.

  Matt figured that if the man was infected, he himself would have already been exposed.

  If the virus was transmitted by air, which seemed likely, than surely it would also be transmitted by blood.

  And there was plenty of blood.

  So Matt threw caution to the wind and picked up one of the dead man's arms. It was loose and somewhat floppy. Rigor mortis hadn't yet set in, of course, and yet the dead man was also exerting no control over his muscles.

  Had brain activity ceased? It was a random thought that popped into Matt's head as he examined the backs of the dead man's hands. He remembered reading somewhere that brain activity continued for up to ten minutes after death.

  Sure, he'd read it. But that didn't mean it was true.

  Maybe he'd misremembered it anyway.

  Not that it mattered anyway.

  “They look OK,” said Matt, leaning in for a closer look. “Take a look, will you?”

  “Let me see,” said Damian, wiping his mouth and getting down there and taking the hand himself. “No... looks OK. Doesn't look enlarged.”'

  “We can't really look at the neck,” said Matt, eyeing the destroyed neck.

  “No, we can't. Hey. Who's that?”

  Damian pointed to the street.

  A car had just pulled up.

  It was that same old beat-up car that had driven by earlier. In the commotion of the door being banged in, Matt hadn't noticed that the car had disappeared at all.

  The car was an early '90s American-made car. Matt didn't know the make or model. The manufacturer's emblem seemed to be missing from the front of the car, near the grille.

  The old beat-up car had rust on the running boards, which was extremely rare to see in New Mexico. Even though there was snow in the winter months, and the streets were salted, the air was so dry that most cars didn't rust. Some people actually came from out of state just to buy rust-free cars.

  “What's that car doing?”

  “It's a man... he's looking at the dead guy...”

  “He's got a gun!”

  Matt saw it just as Jamie spoke the words. The man's window was already rolled down, and Matt could clearly see the driver. He looked thoroughly disreputable.

  More threatening than his looks though was the gun in his hand. His arm was extending, bending at the elbow, in what seemed like slow motion.

  There was no doubt about it. The dead man and the man in the car knew each other.

  This wasn't random. Now this was revenge.

  There was anger etched into the driver's face. Clear and easy to read, even from a distance.

  “Inside!” ordered Matt, his voice firm and commanding.

  There was jostling. Someone stepped on someone else's foot.

  “Inside!”

  Matt was right behind them. He had his Glock in his hand, which was outstretched.

  He knew that he wasn't going to make it inside without firing a shot.

  He knew he wasn't
likely to hit the driver. But he was still going to try. And even a miss would provide some cover.

  Matt's finger pulled the trigger.

  The gun kicked. He steadied against it.

  Not a bad shot.

  The bullet went into the car. Through the open window.

  But no screams. No blood.

  Likely not a hit.

  Matt was inside the house before the driver got off a shot.

  Matt didn't know where the bullet struck.

  He went to slam the door closed, only to realize and remember that it was off its hinges.

  “Help me with this,” he said. “We've got to get this more secure.”

  The others put their hands on the door along with him.

  They pushed it back in the door frame, finally obscuring the dead man from view.

  But there was no getting the door back on its hinges. There was no locking it. No getting it closed all the way.

  A car door slammed outside.

  “Someone get to the window,” said Matt. “We need to see where he's headed.”

  “I'm on it,” said Judy, speaking curtly and pointedly. Her footsteps were loud on the floor.

  They needed to somehow seal off this entrance, or else he doubted they'd be successful in defending Judy's house.

  15

  Jamie

  Jamie could barely believe what was happening.

  Shots had been fired.

  Matt had shot someone. Killed him.

  Someone else was trying to get into the house.

  “Maybe we can like wedge it in there,” said Damian, who, along with Matt, was pressing his body against the door.

  “Wedge it in? It's never going to stay, you idiot!” said Jamie.

  “Hey, don't call me an idiot.”

  “We need a table... the dining room table... Judy, what's he doing? You got your eyes on him?”

  “He's standing in the front yard,” yelled Judy, from the other room. “He looks confused, like he's trying to figure out what to do.. He's got a face tattoo...”

  “Nice,” said Damian. “I always wanted to get one of those. But I just didn't think I'd get hired anywhere.”

  “You are an idiot then,” said Jamie.

  She knew it wasn't the right time to insult his intelligence, not when their lives were on the line, but she just couldn't help herself. There was something absolutely infuriating about Damian's attitude. He was clearly a mama's boy if there ever was one, easily able to let his mother take care of all his needs. The weird thing was that his mother, Judy, just didn't seem like the type to put up with his attitude.

  “We'll get the table now,” said Matt. “If he's coming to the door, then we've got to move fast... Damian, you want to get the table or stay by the door?”

  “Uhh...”

  “Staying by the door is riskier,” said Matt.

  “I'll get the table then…”

  “All right,” said Matt, nodding towards the other room.

  Damian took a couple steps, stopped in his tracks, and muttered something.

  “Jamie?” said Matt. “Help him, would you?”

  Mia, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, completely useless, her eyes looking funny, suddenly let out a scream.

  “Mia! What is it?”

  Not speaking, Mia bolted up to the standing position.

  Then, like a sprinter, she dashed forward towards the door.

  It was only a few feet away from her, and in just a few moments she had collided with it.

  Collided hard.

  She nearly fell over, knocked backwards from the impact of her own collision.

  Matt let out a grunt as he held the door in its place.

  “Mia! What the hell?” shouted Jamie.

  She was completely stunned. Sure, Mia went off the deep end sometimes, but normally she didn't act this crazy. Well, maybe there had been a few times when she had...

  Mia just stood there, looking stunned, a vacant look on her face. She swayed back and forth, as if there was a very strong breeze.

  “Take care of her,” said Matt, giving Jamie a pointed look.

  “What can I do?”

  “Put here somewhere. A spare room. Somewhere where she can't hurt herself. Somewhere where you can lock her in there. We've got too much to deal with.”

  “He's coming towards the front door,” shouted Judy, from the other room.

  “Shit,” muttered Matt.

  As if on cue, Mia started wailing. A high-pitched horrible scratching sound. Just standing there with her mouth open towards the ceiling.

  “You're going to get us all killed,” said Jamie, as she grabbed Mia's arm forcefully. “Come on!”

  If Jamie exerted enough force, Mia would sort of walk with her with these short shuffling steps.

  There was a bedroom downstairs on the first floor. There was a good working door, but there wasn't a lock. And even if there had been one, how would Jamie have locked it from the outside? There wasn't time to take the door handle off and flip it around.

  “Come on, Mia,” said Jamie, clutching her friend's arm harder, pulling her along with her.

  Jamie was thinking fast, trying to find somewhere to stash her friend. Her eyes cast around rapidly, looking for something. Anything.

  But there were no more bedrooms.

  Upstairs? What about upstairs?

  It probably wouldn't work. She'd have the same problem with the door handle, which would lock from the inside.

  Then, standing in the hallway, firmly grasping Mia's arm, she saw the basement door.

  The lock on the basement door was the other way around, so that it locked from the outside.

  Maybe it had been installed incorrectly, or maybe it was supposed to be like that. It didn't matter to Jamie.

  “Come on, Mia, you're headed down to the basement.”

  “The basements are full of animals!” screamed Mia.

  “Just shut up, would you? You're going to get us all killed.”

  Not far away, there was the sound of heavy furniture being dragged across the floor.

  Judy was saying something frantically, but Jamie wasn't paying attention to what it was.

  “Come on, Mia. There's some fun stuff down here in the basement. You'll have a good time once you're down there. Come on. I'll go first.”

  Jamie opened the door and took the first step downstairs.

  Mia's eyes lit up at the prospect of “fun stuff,” and she followed Jamie eagerly downstairs.

  Jamie didn't want Mia to hurt herself on the stairs, even though her patience was wearing very thin, so she walked her all the way down to the basement's concrete floor.

  “It's nice down here, isn't it?” said Jamie, trying to coax Mia down the last step. “Now you're just going to stay down here. Sit in the corner and don't do anything. Don't touch anything, OK?”

  There was plenty of stuff down here for Mia to get in trouble with, but there wasn't any time to find somewhere else. There wasn't anywhere else to put her.

  Plus, she didn't think Mia would hurt herself. She'd never done anything like that in the past.

  “You're going to stay here, right?” said Jamie, feeling anxious to get back upstairs.

  Who knew what was happening up there. She couldn't hear much. Just some loud noises like big heavy things were being dragged around. Some shouts, the words unintelligible.

  “He's got the virus,” said Mia, looking up at Jamie with wide eyes.

  Mia was definitely still under the influence, but as she spoke these words, she seemed the most sober she had in a long while.

  “The virus? Who? What are you talking about? Someone's infected?”

  Mia nodded vigorously. “He told me. We were down here...”

  “Who? You were down here with Damian, right?”

  Mia nodded again. “The guys... attacked... had the big-time veins...” It seemed that whatever small sober part of Mia that was left was trying to communicate with Jamie.

  �
�The guys who attacked him had enlarged veins?”

  Mia, seemingly only partially capable of forming sentences, nodded her head vigorously.

  “This is serious, Mia, are you sure?”

  Mia nodded more.

  “This isn't the drugs talking?”

  Mia shook her head.

  “Shit...”

  She wasn't sure whether to believe Mia or not, but it did seem somewhat plausible. It was a weird thing for Mia to have come up with on her own. It was an even weirder sounding drug delusion.

  Upstairs, there was a gunshot.

  “Shit!”

  Without another word to Mia, Jamie bolted up the stairs.

  She got to the top, slammed the door behind her, and locked it, hoping that Mia would be OK down there.

  Silence rang out.

  No one screamed.

  No one spoke.

  “Everyone OK?”

  No one answered.

  She crept through the hallway, not knowing what to expect when she reached the small area behind the front door.

  She poked her head around the corner.

  Matt was standing there, gun in hand. Damian was behind him, against the wall, looking scared.

  They'd dragged the large dining room table and put it up against the door, so that its end rested on the floor.

  “What happened?” she hissed. She didn't want to speak too loudly, since they all seemed to be trying not to make noise.

  “That guy was creeping up towards the front door,” said Damian, speaking in a low volume. “Matt shot at him.”

  “I missed,” said Matt. “What's he doing now, Judy?”

  “Still back in his car,” came Judy's voice from the other room.

  “We've got to get more furniture to put in front of this door,” said Matt. “Did you get Mia somewhere safe? I can't have her interfering. We don't know what this guy is doing. He seemed to want revenge for his buddy...”

  “Did he shoot at you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I only heard one shot.”

  Matt shrugged.

  “Matt,” said Jamie. “I need to talk to you.” She glanced over at Damian.

  She really didn't know how to handle the situation. She knew that what Mia had said had at least enough truth to it to warrant some type of investigation. After all, if Damian had been infected, there was no point in worrying about getting shot, because it meant they were all dead.