We all watched silently, expecting Matt to shoot to his feet, rage on his face. Rob had hopped out of the passenger van and stood with his rifle raised, waiting for the sign that Matt was no longer one of us. Even I had my rifle pointed out the back doors. But moments passed and nothing happened.
Slowly, Matt began to sit up, pushing himself off the ground with his elbows, shaking his head as if waking from an alcohol‐induced slumber. Melissa shouted his name and tried to slide past Dale, out of the van, but Sarah reached out and pulled her back. Dale raised his rifle again but I put my hand on top of the barrel and gently pushed down, shaking my head. We needed to see how this played out.
"Wait," Brian said, loudly and firmly. "Just wait."
Brian had gotten out of the van and was standing just to the side of the back doors. He had his AR trained on Matt, but his finger was off the trigger.
"Matt, you still there?" Brian asked, slowly inching toward our friend.
"Bri, you need to fucking put him down," Dale shouted.
Matt nodded, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. He started to stand, but was slow getting to his feet.
"Hold on there, compadre," Brian said. "Were you bit?"
"I…I don't know," Matt said.
Speech was a good sign. Still, something about Matt didn't look right.
"Bri, you better hurry this shit up," Dale said. "Shoot him now. Everything in a mile radius heard those shots and you wanna sit here and wait for this guy to eat us."
Matt turned to face Brian and those of us in the van simultaneously gasped. Brian cocked his shoulders and leveled the rifle. Matt's eyes were the same empty, black color as the infected.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Dale said as he raised his rifle again.
I turned and aimed my rifle at Dale.
"If you shoot him, I shoot you," I said. I trusted Rob and Brian to use discretion, but no way was this old fuck going to decide on his own whether or not Matt lived.
Melissa's sobs cut through the tension as she tried to squirm away from Sarah, but Sarah held tight.
I thought about Matt's father. Matt said his sister told him his father had been attacked in Philly the day of the outbreak. It sounded like an exaggeration and overreaction to the events, people wanting to believe that their situation was exceptional, even compared to the chaos that reigned around them. Everyone had attempted to rationalize what was happening those first few days. I'd only seen two people get bitten by an infected, and both had turned within fifteen seconds. This wasn't a coincidence.
"He's fucking immune," I shouted. Everyone turned to look at me. "His dad, whatever it is, he's gonna be alright."
Melissa started to cry, her sobs muffled by Sarah's embrace.
"I'm not riding in the same car if he's infected," Brian said without taking his eyes off Matt.
I grabbed a duffel bag, threw down the zipper and started rifling through it.
"We'll handcuff him," I said, pulling a pair of handcuffs from the bag. "That way we can keep an eye on him, see if he gets any worse. Matt, you okay with that?"
Matt nodded, still groggy.
"Fine," Brian said, finally lowering the rifle. "But he's your responsibility. And if he so much as sneezes in the wrong direction, I'm putting a bullet through his head."
"Whatever," I said. I turned to Matt. "Now hurry the fuck up and get in here so we can go."
CHAPTER NINE
Thursday, 3:30 p.m.
Route 1, according to the maps we'd printed at Brian's home, would take us northwest from Conowingo toward West Chester, almost in a straight line. The first seven miles, up to the Pennsylvania border, were uneventful. Farms lined both sides of the road, interrupted by the occasional diner or gas station, along with a couple houses set close to the shoulder. Most of the buildings and homes appeared undisturbed.
At the border to PA, Route 1 turned into a four‐lane highway, with two lanes heading either direction separated by a grass median. We passed a mall and I thought of that old zombie movie. I wondered if people were stuck in there now, riding out the infection. At least in the movie it seemed like a decent place to be. Lots of entry points, though. Surely not as safe in reality as the movie depicted it to be.
Approaching the town of Nottingham we saw reminders of the new world. Nottingham is home to the Herr's Snacks plant, cranking out various chips and dips. I was never a big fan of Herr's; I wanted to like them because they were from Pennsylvania and I tried to support local products, but they tasted cheap.
Around the plant a few neighborhoods had sprung up to house the employees. Most of the town's population must have tried to flee via Route 1. Cars were strewn across the road, on the shoulders, in the median. Some cars were abandoned, doors flung open with no sign of the occupants. Other cars had smashed windshields, blood splatter on the windows and a few contained half‐eaten passengers, limbless and gutted torsos spilling onto the pavement.
Brian carefully maneuvered through the traffic jam, occasionally using the bumper to push a car out of the way, as Rob kept a vigilant lookout through the front windshield.
Melissa hadn't stopped crying since we left Conowingo. She wanted to comfort Matt, but Sarah held her back and Dale repeatedly reminded her of the potential of contracting the infection. Matt, typically a man among men, sat at the back of the van, his right arm cuffed to a metal bracket on the door, knees to his chest, head hung low resting on his left arm.
We rode mostly in silence, aside from occasional chatter between Rob and Brian. Rob was the navigator, interpreting the maps, outlining our desired path to West Chester. There wasn't much to talk about. Here we were, going to West Chester to hopefully save Matt's parents, not knowing if they were dead or alive, and not knowing if Matt would get better or worse after being bitten. For all we knew, his parents could be gone and his condition could deteriorate until we had no choice but to shoot him. On the other hand, Matt and his father might hold the cure to whatever causes the infection. Still, not much to discuss with a better‐than‐not chance we were on a suicide mission.
After passing through the tangled mess at Nottingham, we were back to farm country. Route 1 was still four lanes, and we passed a couple lonely cars on the side of the road, but otherwise it was clear. A few miles later we turned onto Route 10, heading north. It felt good to be back on a two‐lane road, still surrounded by farms. Route 1 had safely served its purpose, but there was something ominous about a deserted four‐lane highway in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.
I decided it was time to end the silence. I sensed everyone was settling into a very negative mindset. And bringing Matt back into the equation was a good place to start.
"Hey Matt, how you feeling, buddy?" I asked. Matt lifted his head and turned to face me. I had to stop myself from reacting to the sight of his soulless black eyes. Melissa didn't help matters, letting out a sob and covering her mouth.
"I've been better," Matt said. His voice was flat, but I couldn't tell if it was from pain, exhaustion or just self‐pity.
"Yeah, join the club, man," I said. "But really, you hurting from the bite?"
"My side hurts, but I'm not sure if I actually got bit," Matt said.
"Then how the hell'd you get infected?" Dale said. I shot him a 'shut up and let me handle this' look.
"I don't know, I really don't remember much, it all happened so quick," Matt said.
I slid myself across the van floor toward Matt, one hand raised to let him know I meant no harm.
"You mind if I take a look?" I asked, gesturing toward his midsection.
"Jason, be careful, he's covered in blood," Sarah said.
"I will. I'm not gonna touch it," I said. Turning back toward Matt, I asked "Can you use your left hand to lift the shirt, maybe put your leg down so I can see?"
Matt slowly lifted his shirt to his armpit, grimacing as he did so. There were no bites. Instead, I found a gash halfway down his rib cage. The wound was elongated, like the shape of a pinky finger, and de
ep. There was significant bruising around the gouge, and blood had dried dripping down his side. It was definitely not a bite.
"Hey Dale, you know what this is?" I asked. I figured the veteran would be pretty familiar with the different types of wounds.
Dale slid closer, but maintained a safe distance.
"Fuck me," Dale said, opening his squinted eyes. "That's a bullet graze."
"A bullet graze?" Melissa asked, not understanding.
"Matt, can I see your arms?" I said. He held out his left arm, flipping it over several times. His right arm was handcuffed to the door, but he used his left arm to feel along it and shook his head.
"What about your neck?" I asked. Matt lowered his head, then tilted it all the way back and to each side. He pulled down his shirt collar as far as it would go on each side.
"Doesn't feel like I got bit anywhere," Matt said.
I looked at Dale. He knew I knew what had happened.
"What's going on?" Melissa said, catching my glance toward Dale.
"No way," Sarah said softly.
"I fucking shot him," Dale said. "When I fired at that infected fucker attacking him, the bullet must've gone through and grazed your husband."
Melissa's jaw dropped. She shook her shoulder free from Sarah's clutch and swung a right fist at Dale, hitting nothing but air. Dale let himself fall backwards out of her reach.
"You son of a bitch," Melissa screamed, before beginning to sob again, allowing herself to drop back into Sarah's comforting arms.
"Lissy, it's ok," Matt said. "If Dale hadn't shot that thing, it would've bitten me anyway." Turning toward Dale, Matt continued "I don't blame you. No one should."
For a moment, the only noise in the van came from rubber turning on pavement. Everyone else was convincing themselves that if Matt wasn't angry, they shouldn't be either. I was trying to convince myself that his infection was a blessing. If his blood held a cure, we could be sitting next to the most valuable man in America right now.
"You guys alright back there?" Rob said, turning around from the passenger chair. "This might get a little dicey up ahead."
I looked out the front as Brian gunned the engine. The van lurched forward, headed straight toward an infected woman charging at us down the middle of the road. The impact barely slowed the van, but sent a spray of blood across the windshield.
As the wipers whisked away the woman's blood and entrails, I saw a bank and a Turkey Hill appear on the at the next intersection.
"Where are we?" I asked. I couldn't believe we'd missed this town on the maps while we were planning the route at Brian's house.
"Not sure what the town is," Rob said, shuffling through the printouts, "but our turn is just ahead."
The road curved to the right and everything shifted in the van as Brian took the turn faster than he should have. We couldn't afford to go slowly, though. Through every window I could see out of, infected were spilling into the street. Brian swerved the van left and right, not in an effort to avoid hitting infected, but rather to avoid hitting more than three or four at a time.
As quickly as we had entered the town, we found ourselves pulling away from it. The only infected remaining were standing in the rearview mirror, and cornfields stretched out before us. Following Rob's direction, Brian swung a right onto Gum Tree Road, heading east. Farms and fields again lined the road, allowing Brian to ease off the gas pedal. We were mere miles from West Chester, and no one was in any rush to find out what awaited us.
CHAPTER TEN
Thursday, 4:00 p.m.
According to Matt, we were about two miles from West Chester. He cautioned that if we drove any further, fields and rolling hills would quickly yield to neighborhoods spilling over with the infected. I had no reason to doubt him; east of our position, smoke drifted toward the clouds, reminiscent of the overrun cities we had passed on the bay. Brian parked the van at the foot of a long driveway leading to a farmhouse surrounded by ankle‐high barley fields.
A trip that would have taken three hours two weeks ago had taken us over three days, at the expense of three lives, including Holly. But we were finally in West Chester. And I was only a hundred miles from my parent's house in the Poconos. Still, I knew things were about to get worse before they got better.
We hopped out of the cargo van, stretching our legs, taking in our surroundings. The summer heat had begun to wane. The road we were on was lined with overgrown bushes and grasses, and dotted with hundred year old oaks, providing further protection from the sun's rays. Insects and birds sang a chorus that belied the chaos further down the road. I was so absorbed in nature's beauty that it took a moment to realize Melissa and Brian were arguing. I turned and walked toward the front of the van.
"Jason, tell him Matt's fine," Melissa said. "He doesn't need to be locked up anymore."
"Just let him get up and walk around a while, Bri," Dale said. "He's fine right now, we can at least talk about how we're gonna handle it."
Apparently Dale was trying to atone for his errant shot, suddenly supporting Matt.
"I agree," I said. "I'm no expert, but I would think if he was gonna turn, it would've happened by now. Hell, it would've happened in the first thirty seconds."
"Fine, but I don't want him anywhere near me," Brian said. "You know he's still contagious, right?"
"Yes," I said. "And Melissa, you've gotta keep a safe distance too. Whatever made him immune, you probably don't have the same genes. No kisses, no touching, no nuthin', understood?"
Melissa shook her head in agreement, grabbed the keys from Brian's extended hand and raced toward the back of the van. I followed to make sure she didn't risk her own life. She played it smart, dropping the keys in Matt's free hand and allowing him to unlock himself. Moments later he stood from the van and stretched his limbs. Aside from the pitch black eyes and sullen spirit, he seemed to be in good health.
"You know we had to do that right, for our own protection?" Brian said as he put a hand on the open van door.
"Yeah I know, I would've done the same thing," Matt said, nodding.
"So what's the game plan?" Rob asked.
"Well, we have a couple choices," I said. "First off, we need to decide if we wanna try to march into West Chester tonight, and risk getting cut off in the dark, or if we wanna wait until morning. Second, we need to solidify who's going. I don't wanna put Sarah or Melissa at risk, but I also don't wanna leave them here alone. Third, if we wait until morning, we need to figure out what we're doing tonight."
"I say we wait until morning," Matt said.
I was glad he spoke up. If we were going to successfully extract his parents, assuming they were even still alive, we needed Matt to lead the way. This whole plan would go to shit if he felt alienated from the group.
"Why's that?" Brian asked. "It's only four. We've got plenty of sunlight left to get in and get out. Why not get it done with?"
"Because we don't know what we're dealing with," I said.
I didn't want Matt to have to feel like he was defending himself. Besides, he was right. We'd be better off in the light of day.
"Who the hell knows how many of those infected are wandering the streets right now," I continued. "This is a big town. We're gonna need to take our time and allow opportunities to develop. If we start rushing, we're gonna end up with a damn block party chasing our asses back here."
Rob and Dale each agreed that waiting until morning was the safest course of action.
After a few more minutes of debate, we all agreed we would search the farm house at the top of the driveway in hopes that it was empty and would provide refuge for a night. We also agreed that tomorrow morning, Sarah and Melissa would remain at the house while the guys went into West Chester. I wasn't happy about leaving the girls behind, but if the place was safe enough to sleep in tonight, certainly the girls would be safe for a few hours in the morning. Besides, Brian wanted all the men on the mission into the city, and he had already compromised by waiting until morning, so I
figured acquiescing on this made us square.
We climbed back into the van and Brian reversed, then pulled forward down the driveway, headed toward the farm house. Barley fields stretched from each side of the drive like a green, calm sea. A three‐rail wooden fence surrounded the property on three sides, all except the front along the road, which was bordered by evenly‐spaced, 50‐foot tall oaks casting a continuous shadow on the ground below. The Pennsylvania Dutch‐style farm house sat at the center of the property, two hundred yards of barley between the home and the fence in every direction. The two‐story house was built with stone, grayish‐brown in color, five windows along the second floor, four on the first, with a double front door and a porch wrapping around the entire building.
The driveway opened up to provide a small parking area to the right of the home, but Brian pulled directly in front of the main entrance before shutting off the engine. I climbed out of the side doors and helped Sarah to the ground. Melissa, Matt and Dale followed, while Brian and Rob emerged from the front seats. If anyone was home, they weren't concerned about strange cars in the driveway. The curtains behind the first floor windows were pulled to the side, revealing fragments of the interior and indicating that whoever lived here either left at the outbreak of the virus, or wasn't worried about infected guests breaking in.
I surveyed the surrounding fields. There was nothing but barley between us and the fence, beyond which trees formed another natural barrier.
Brian tried the front door, found it locked, and began looking under rugs and potted plants on the porch. Two minutes later he had found the key, unlocked the door and stepped into the foyer. I took Sarah's hand and we followed the rest of the group inside.
Brian, Rob and Dale began an inspection, covering each other as they went door to door throughout the home, ensuring there were no infected lying in wait. After the three guys finished with the first floor and took the stairs to the second, I led Sarah to the kitchen. Together we began scouring the cabinets. It appeared whoever had lived here had packed as much as they could before they made their escape. Every cabinet was barren, aside from a few spices. The refrigerator held a few items, such as cheese and vegetables in the crisper, but it had grown warm long ago and nearly everything inside featured a fresh layer of mold. I figured we'd be dining on beef jerky and Slim Jims again.
American Infection (Book 2) Page 5