Escape the Virus

by Ryan Westfield

  Or maybe it was already too late. Who knew how fast the virus spread...

  They'd said that it was only contagious when the veins were enlarged, right? But they didn't know everything. The authorities were always correcting themselves later.

  “Talk to me now,” said Matt. He was busy examining the door, apparently trying to figure how he could further fortify it.

  “I can't. I need to talk to you in private.”

  She didn't know how Damian would react to this serious accusation. But Matt was his friend. He'd know how to handle it.

  “Can't it wait?”

  “No,” she said, trying to put as much emphasis on the word as she possibly could. Finally, he looked over at her, and she tried to tell him with her eyes that this was serious.

  There was some recognition there in his eyes.

  “OK,” he said, nodding, glancing over at Damian. “Hold down the fort, OK?” He handed his gun to his friend, who took it as if he had been handed a dead rat.

  “Come on,” said Matt, leading the way away from the door.

  16

  Froggy

  The image of Mark's dead face wouldn't leave Froggy's mind. It was stuck there. He didn't know if it'd ever leave.

  Mark had been shot in the neck. Blood everywhere. Part of Mark's body turned inside out. It was horrible. A horrible sight.

  They'd been best friends. Best friends for a long time.

  Sure, they'd seen some horrible things in their day. They'd committed some crimes. Some violent ones too. They'd bashed some heads in, so to speak. But you couldn't get anywhere without cracking a few eggs. That's just the way it was these days. No way around it.

  So they'd seen some violence. Some nasty sights. But it had been different.

  This wasn't some stranger. Some easy target. This was Mark. Froggy's best bud here stateside.

  And it had been so long since Froggy had been back to Australia that the faces and names of his old friends and “colleagues” had gone blurry. Too many tall-boy beers had come between those times and now. Too many knocks on the head. Too many years and too many rough times.

  Was it Froggy's fault for bringing the ammo? Was it his fault for hatching the plan?

  What would Mark have said?

  He would have said to hell with it all. He wouldn't have blamed Froggy. Hell, he'd probably wished that he'd come up with the plan himself.

  “So what am I going to do then?” muttered Froggy to himself. One of his arms was draped over the steering wheel of the old beat-up sedan.

  He'd approached the house, intending to get back Mark's body, or at least exact a little revenge.

  Then they'd shot at him.

  He'd said to himself that he needed to screw the whole thing and just bug off.

  So he'd hightailed it back to his car and driven down the block.

  But he hadn't seemed capable of getting past that stop sign there. Maybe it was his conscience, long dormant, that was coming to the surface.

  He knew that Mark wouldn't have been OK with lying there out in the open like that, all shot up, all busted open so that anyone could see his guts.

  Froggy took a deep breath.

  This wasn't right, having Mark laid out like that.

  “Shit,” he muttered, adding a string of even worse curses.

  There was one out. No one on this side street. Everyone was probably still freaking out about the virus.

  If they hadn't been, the police would have already been called.

  But the police were busy with this bogus virus scare. That meant that Froggy had some time. How long would it take before it all died down, before people forgot about the “virus” and it was business again as usual?

  Probably a couple days.

  A couple days...

  A couple days meant freedom. It meant that Froggy could do what he wanted for a while before he had to go back into stealth mode, hiding out all day in his apartment...

  He'd use that freedom for fun. And for good.

  First things first, he'd retrieve Mark's body and exact his revenge on the bastards who'd shot him for no good reason...

  So Mark had been breaking into their home. So what? That kind of thing happened all the time.

  If they'd been so concerned about it, they should have called the cops...

  Froggy laughed uproariously at the thought of them on the phone, getting a busy signal, or an overworked secretary on the other end, telling them that they were understaffed and up to their shoulders in shit from the virus...

  Froggy would get his revenge. Then he'd have his fun. And then by the time all this virus nonsense was over, he'd be back at home and no one would be the wiser.

  There was no reason to think that Froggy would get into any trouble after it was all over... After all, everyone in that house today would wind up dead.

  Froggy was sure of that. They'd be as dead as doorknobs. Bullets to the head. Knives to the throat.

  And if there was any fun to be had, he'd be sure to have it. He wasn't above torture, for instance. In the right circumstances, in the right setting, it could be wonderfully fun. For Froggy, of course. Not for the other party. But that was what it was all about. Real power dynamics at play in the physical world. Violence was the interface.

  “You're getting ahead of yourself there, Froggy,” he muttered to himself, as he caught himself thinking those weird, crazy far-out thoughts again. “Just stick to the basics. Wait until night falls, snort some blow, and then hit the house... they won't even see what's coming...”

  Froggy knew that he needed to chill out a little. Relax until night fell, which wasn't long.

  He reached back into the seat behind him, grabbed a couple cans of beer that were floating around there, and dumped them into the passenger seat.

  He cracked one open, and chugged it straight down.

  He felt a little better.

  He grabbed another beer. Same thing. Cracked it open and straight down the hatch.

  He felt a lot better.

  “I'll miss you, buddy,” he muttered, glancing over at the empty passenger seat. “Huh, that's weird.”

  For some reason, he'd found himself looking at the back of his hand that held the empty beer can.

  Something about his veins looked strange. Weird.

  Were they bigger than normal?

  Nah.

  That was just crazy.

  Maybe he'd chugged the beer too fast or something. It had all gone straight to his blood.

  Hell if he knew how it all worked. Nothing to worry about anyway.

  Froggy, knowing that the cocaine and speed would later get him in the right mood for revenge, cracked open a third beer.

  Now it was time to relax

  Soon it was time for revenge.

  When night came. Not too long.

  17

  Matt

  “What is it?” said Matt, pulling Jamie into the small room that contained the washer and dryer. He closed the door. “Whatever it is, make it fast. There's a guy out there who wants to kill us.”

  “First of all. Did you call the cops?”

  “The cops? Yeah, Judy did. Or tried to. She couldn't get through. Phone lines are all busy, both 911 and the direct line.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. Now what is it?”

  “It's Damian,” she said, speaking quickly, as if she were out of breath.

  “Damian? What about him?”

  “He might be infected.”

  “Tell me as much as you know.”

  “It was Mia. She told me. I guess he told her when they were in the basement or something...”

  “Mia? She's out of her mind on drugs.”

  “I know. I know. And I'm not sure whether I can believe her or not, but there might be something to this. When she told me this, she seemed more sober. More coherent. I think it's worth investigating. I mean, if it's true...”

  “...we're all screwed,” said Matt, finishing her sentence for him.

&nb
sp; She nodded, and there was a brief silence.

  It was a little strange to be alone together.

  But there were things to do. Things to take care of. Threats to worry about. No time for worrying about social niceties or oddities.

  “I'll take care of it,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “I need you to help Judy with the door. Guarding it. We don't know what the hell that guy's doing. But it's reasonable to think he might attack... And the door isn't that sturdy. You know how to work a gun?”

  She nodded.

  “Here,” he said, handing her the dead guy's gun. “You know it?”

  “I think so,” she said, examining the gun. She did it in a way that made it look like she knew what she was doing. Maybe more than she actually knew. “It's a cheapie. But it'll do. Reasonably well made, I guess.”

  “That's what I thought,” said Matt. “Come on.”

  He opened the door and led the way back to the front door.

  Damian was standing there, looking nervous as hell. He was still holding the Glock in a strange way.

  Without speaking, Matt held out his hand, obviously asking for his Glock back. “Any sign of him?”

  Damian shook his head vigorously, handing the Glock somewhat eagerly back to Matt.

  Matt checked it over. It looked fine. Hadn't been fired. Always good to check. Still had ammo.

  “Can I talk to you in the other room?”

  “Talk to me? Huh?”

  “Just do it,” said Matt.

  “Uh, OK.”

  “Jamie's going to watch the door. No sign of the man, right?”

  “Right.”

  Damian seemed even more nervous as he led the way. Matt followed close by. He didn't take his hand off his gun.

  He took him to the same room that he'd taken Jamie.

  “So,” said Matt. “It's come to my attention...”

  “I only took a five!” said Damian.

  “What?”

  “I did take some money from your wallet. But it was only five dollars. I swear. I'd never take a twenty.”

  Damian looked like he might start sweating bullets at any minute. His face was getting all red.

  “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  “Last week when you handed me your wallet... I was heading to the vending machine.”

  Matt shook his head. “That doesn't matter,” he said. “I could care less about that right now. What I need to ask you is about today. About the time you were assaulted by those two men.”

  “Oh,” said Damian, his eyes shifting back and forth. “What about it?”

  Matt and Damian were standing very close to each other. Matt could smell Damian's breath, which didn't smell good. He could smell old sweat and he could even smell Damian's deodorant. It was probably closer that he'd ever been to his friend.

  This was a tough conversation. It was always tough to confront people. But Matt knew that he had to do it. There was no other way. Lives were at stake.

  He hadn't always been good at confronting people back in his office life. But now things were different. He knew that he needed to change the way he acted if he wanted to stay alive.

  “I heard that the guys who attacked you might have been infected. Is that true?”

  “Huh? True?”

  Matt watched carefully. Damian's eyes no longer met his occasionally. Instead, they swerved down to the floor where they stayed fixed. He mumbled something else, something unintelligible.

  “According to Mia, they were infected. Now I know you know what that means. And I also understand why you'd want to hide the fact. But here's the thing, just because you might be infected, it's not like we're going to kill you or something... But think about the group. If it's true, then you might be putting everyone at risk, including your own mother.”

  “It's not true though!” said Damian, still not meeting Matt's eyes. “I mean, what, Mia told you that? She's crazy? She's on some kind of insane drugs or something. You're going to believe her over me.”

  “I have good reason to believe her,” said Matt. “Now I want you to think very carefully before you answer me. Think about your mother. If you're infected, not telling us is a death sentence for her... Do you really want to do that?”

  There was a long, long pause.

  “OK!” said Damian frantically. “It's true. It's true. They had big veins. But so what? That doesn't mean they're infected, does it?”

  Damian was moving around nervously. Somehow, it seemed that his body odor was getting stronger and worse smelling by the second. Maybe it was his stress hormones, which were rising.

  Matt felt anger rumbling up inside his guts.

  He tried to contain it.

  But he couldn't.

  It was no use.

  He tried counting to ten.

  One...

  Two...

  Three...

  But it was no use.

  Without thinking, he slammed his free hand into Damian's chest.

  Hard.

  Damian got a weird look on his face. Stunned. His body slammed back into the drywall, which cracked above his head.

  “Hey!”

  Matt was already on him, pressing his body against Damian's. His free hand went towards Damian's neck, where it stayed. Not quite touching. But threatening.

  “I thought you were my friend,” growled Matt.

  Matt hadn't felt like this in a long time. He couldn't remember the last time. He felt like an animal almost. Primal, in a way. Strong. Like a man.

  It would have all sounded cheesy to him last week. Or even yesterday at the office.

  But now?

  Now this stuff mattered. This wasn't all a big joke. Or a game. This was real life. Life or death.

  “I am your friend! I was just scared. Matt, please don't tell my mom. She's going to kill me.”

  “Not if I do it first!” growled Matt, his hand pressing now against Damian's neck. Pressing pretty hard. “Now we don't know how this all works. But if you're infected and you're contagious...”

  “But I wouldn't be contagious yet!” squealed Damian.

  “You're pathetic,” growled Matt. “You make me sick. Now if you're contagious, then you've already killed us all... I need to figure out what to do.”

  Matt knew it wouldn't do any good to hurt Damian. In fact, if it turned out that Damian was going to live despite the threat of the virus, then hurting him would just hurt Matt and the others. They were a team, even if Damian was behaving selfishly. And everything that hurt each individual would hurt the team as a whole.

  “Stay here,” growled Matt. “Don't move a muscle. OK?”

  Damian nodded. He looked terrified.

  Matt left the room, slamming the door behind him.

  He walked quickly to where Judy was posted up by the window that looked out over the front yard.

  From down in the basement came the wild cries, somewhat muffled, of the drug-soaked Mia.

  “Any sign of him? Or anyone else?” he said to Judy, speaking brusquely.

  “No sign of his car,” said Judy.

  “We've got a problem with your son.”

  Judy raised her eyebrow quizzically.

  Matt found that his heart rate had accelerated and there was a lump in his throat. Anxiety had replaced his anger.

  He didn't know how Judy would handle this news about her son.

  He knew her, sure, but not that well.

  She seemed to have her head on straighter than her son. She seemed practical minded and reasonable, and that was the only reason that he'd confide this to her.

  If she'd been any one else, any other mother, he would have had to think of another solution to the situation.

  “Talk to me,” said Judy.

  Matt explained the situation as briefly and succinctly as he could. All the while, he watched Judy's face to see how she would react.

  Her face remained completely impassive. She listened carefully to every word, giving no indication of how she w
ould react.

  What if she got upset? What if she got angry and called them all a bunch of liars, accused them of attacking her son and threw them all out of the house?

  Well, if he hadn't told her, and hadn't done anything about Damian's possible infection, then they'd all wind up dead anyway.

  He didn't have a lot to lose.

  “Stay here,” she said. “Someone needs to watch the window. I'll take care of this.”

  Gun in hand, she marched off, leaving Matt standing there, wondering what was happening.

  Suddenly, someone else rushed into the room. It happened so fast it was hard, for a split second, to tell who it was.

  Then he saw that it was Jamie.

  “Hey,” he said. “We need someone by the front door.”

  Matt glued his eyes to the window, holding the curtain back just a little.

  “If someone comes up now...”

  “This is really important,” said Jamie. “I had to show you.”

  She held up her cell phone for him to see. There was a video up and in full-screen mode. She pressed the large play button in the shape of an arrow.

  “We really need someone at the door,” said Matt, trying to push the cell phone out of the way. “If you're not going to be there, then I'll have to...”

  “Seriously,” said Jamie, her voice cutting through his. There was a seriousness to her tone. “You need to watch this.”

  Matt gave in.

  The first few seconds of the video had been just a blur, as if the lens had been up against someone's shirt, or blocked somehow. But now he could see people moving around.

  A lot of people.

  There were people everywhere. Too many of them.

  It looked like a rock concert.

  “What am I looking at?” he said, not taking his eyes off the screen.

  “Today. An hour ago. In the convention center.”

  The people in the video were moving around in a strange way. They were still a little blurry, as if someone had tried to use the digital zoom.

  “Keep watching,” said Jamie. “The bad stuff is coming.”

  Matt didn't know what happened in the video, whether the person filming had stepped forward, or whether something else had happened, but he could suddenly see clearly what was happening.