A click and the door creaked open. Grace hurried in, locking it. She immediately grabbed her daughter and held her tight.
Grace wanted to fold. She wanted to break down and cry. She felt it in her, the emotions stuck in her throat wanting to emerge as a cry of agony. The bathroom was pitch black, adding to the horrific and scary feeling.
Grace was overwhelmed. “I’m scared. I’m scared, Mommy.”
“Me too, baby.” She could feel her child trembling in her arms. Her legs locked around Grace’s waist.
“Why were they doing that?”
“I don’t know.” Grace sniffed.
“What are we going to do?”
“We have to call for help.” Not letting go of her child, Grace looked at her phone. The lack of electricity made it impossible for the phone to charge, but she had a little battery life remaining. Whatever illness her family had made them go insane. Grace dialed 911.
She expected a ring, or even an immediate answer, what she didn’t expect was a tone and the recorded message that all circuits were busy. Slowly, Grace pulled the phone from her ear.
“Mommy?”
Grace shook her head and tried again. She would keep trying. Maybe if they waited it out, things would calm down and be over. Until things normalized or they found help, Grace had to figure out something. For safety’s sake, staying in the bathroom wasn’t going to cut it.
Four – Calling Out
South Pittsburgh
Paul had made it almost all the way to Erie, Pennsylvania. The highways were passable but when he stopped at the first roadblock, it wasn’t the military that stopped him from going forward. It was his conscience and guilt.
They asked for his identification while warning him to stay off the roads for his own safety.
“I’m with Emergency Management out of Pittsburgh,” Paul told them. “I know how bad this thing is.”
“At least they can spare you,” the soldier replied. “I know Erie needs all the help it can get.”
Spare him.
No one had spared him, because Paul ran. He ran without doing a damn thing. What made it worse was he had immunity and in doing so, he was able to help and he didn’t. He wasn’t sure how far the immunity factor carried. He knew the infected didn’t rage for him, but he did have one smell and nip at him.
After the solider said something so simple as ‘spare’, Paul was wracked with guilt. Did he leave too soon? It was his chosen field and he picked it because he wanted to help people. Running was not helping.
With that, he apologized to the soldier, turned his car around, and headed back.
He could see the glow of fires hovering over the city’s skyline as he made his approach. He took the long way into the city, avoiding the heart of it. His office was located on the east edge of town.
His cell phone was charging in the car and there was still service. Confident he would be all right, he pulled over and started making calls. He called everyone in his contact list that he worked with.
He received an answer from one person. A field worker named Carl. He was hiding out, and the infected were relentlessly trying to get him.
Paul informed him what he wanted to do. From what he’d heard on the radio, there were pockets of areas not affected, and some city emergency management teams managed to get things rolling. Better late than never, Paul wanted to do the same thing.
In order to implement it, he had to make it to the office, grab an Emergency Management case, and initiate the city’s Emergency Broadcast System.
Any DJ holding a post on the airwaves was lost as to what to tell people. They took phone calls from people reporting conditions. A church in Bloomfield was offering sanctuary and help; a police station in Wexford, everyone but the government. He wasn’t sure what he could do, but Paul would try.
Power was down in half the city. He hoped the generators kicked in. Unfortunately, Paul had to abandon his car a block from the Safety Building.
He hated the idea of leaving his car but abandoned vehicles made it impossible for him to pass. There were very few infected on the streets. Many had fled the city when the outbreak at the museum was announced.
With no street lights, it was pitch black and the distant sounds of the infected carried in the air.
He ran as fast as he could to his building, up the small number of steps, and reached for the door. It wasn’t locked. In fact, the door was ajar. He knew what he had to do once inside. Run up the stairs to the third floor, get to the director’s office, pull one of the cases from the cabinet, and fire up the generators so he could reach the uplink to the emergency broadcast system.
There were eight designated places around the city for shelter. Whichever case Paul grabbed first would be the shelter he would initiate.
The emergency lights in the hallway were out. He didn’t understand why, they were battery operated. Using his phone as a light, Paul ran down the hall to get to the stairwell.
Before he arrived, taking him by surprise, he heard the shifting of a shotgun chamber and a shadowy figure emerged from an office holding the weapon on him.
“Say something.” The voice was female but Paul couldn’t see who it was, she was in the dark.
“Don’t shoot?”
She lowered her weapon. “We’re grabbing supplies; you’re welcome to join us.”
“Supplies from where?” Paul asked.
“Vending machines. Lunch room. Trying to get all we can. Hunker down somewhere until this thing passes.”
“It’s not gonna pass for a while,” Paul said. “How many are here?”
She didn’t answer.
“Well, thank you for the invite, but I have to get to my office,” Paul said and moved to the stairwell. “I worked here.”
“Why in the world would you come back?”
“It’s the only way to get a shelter started. The city has the means and the supplies. I just need to get to them and get it up and running.”
“Are you going to call out to people?”
“If the generators get me to the main uplink of the EBS, then yes.”
“Will it be safe?”
“I don’t know. If I get enough people to show up, help, then maybe, yeah. I don’t know. To be honest I’m going at this blind. I was only a field worker and a nurse.”
“Do you know anything about what’s happening?”
“I know more than most,” Paul replied.
“Then let me tell the others and we’ll help you.”
“Thank you,” Paul said with a nod. “How many are you?”
“Four. Safety in numbers, right?”
“Well, that all depends.”
“On what?” she asked.
“If any of the numbers are immune,” he said. “If not, there is no safety.”
<><><><>
Mount Hallow
Myron hated the neighbor across the street. She always thought she was better than everyone else. Myron couldn’t figure it out. If she was all that why did she rent an apartment and not own some big house? He tried to be nice. He always waved and said hello, but she snubbed him.
Now she was wandering the front lawn of her house, nipping at the air and dragging her gimp leg that appeared to be half severed.
“Bubby, get away from the window,” his grandmother said.
“They don’t see me, Gram. I’m dying.”
“What?”
“Like in that movie. They don’t see me because I probably have a deadly disease.”
“Well at least cancer is good for something now.”
Myron’s mouth dropped open and he gasped. “I can’t believe you said that to me."
“You brought it up, Bubby. I think you are just special.”
“This is insane. How did this happen?”
“It was time for another plague. The world is too crowded.”
Myron looked back at his grandmother. She was playing on her tablet. “You’re keeping that charged, right? Because radio said a lot of plac
es don’t have power.”
“All plugged in. We should go to Florida. It’s not that infected.”
“Yet.”
A sudden tone over the radio, followed by a series of buzzes, caused Myron to rush from the window to the radio. “Emergency broadcast.”
“It’s a little late.”
“Never too late.”
“The following message is from the Southern Pennsylvania Emergency Management Association.”
Buzz.
“Numerous power outages are being reported in the vicinity of the following counties: Allegheny, Westmoreland, Washington. There is no expected return time. Civilians are urged to use caution when traveling the roads. We are experiencing a biological emergency. Seal windows and doors. Restrict travel. Emergency shelters in the following locations will be operational at zero, six hundred hours.”
The computer voice rattled off only four locations.
“Caramount?” Grandmother said. “Did he say Caramount Elementary?” She stood.
“Yeah, he did.”
“Bubby, that’s not far at all.”
“Gram, I had to leave the car,” he said. “I don’t see how I can even get it close.” He walked back over and looked out the window. The street was a parking lot.
“We can walk there.”
An abundance of sadness hit Myron. “I’m the one dying, I’m the one that’s safe out there. They’ll still go after you. I can’t take a chance bringing you out there. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’ll go get supplies.”
“There has to be a way,” she said. “Think, Bubby. You’re smart. Think. What if you conceal me some way?”
Frustrated, Myron moved from his window watch spot. He would try his hardest to think of something. He needed to get his grandmother safe. While they were good for the time being, the first floor apartment windows that were six feet from ground level wouldn’t be secure once those things decided they would get in. They were already pounding at the door nonstop. The hundreds out here were flushing through the buildings like scavengers.
His grandmother was right, Myron was smart. Once he figured out what it was that attracted them to attacking his grandmother, whether it was sight, sound, or smell, Myron would figure out a way to hide it. Or at least try.
<><><><>
The bathroom was not an option in any scenario. There was a tiny window that Grace wouldn’t fit through, and considering the power was out, the water probably wouldn’t be good for long. The one floor ranch style home was a trap for her.
Grace stopped trying her phone. She had to conserve the battery and put her attention on what she could do. A decision had to be made fast, and while Scott was still unconscious and Macy was locked in her bedroom.
Leaving the house wasn’t an option either, at least until daybreak. Where would they go? Grace didn’t know if the whole city was infected or only her area.
The only viable safe hiding place was the basement and family room. She could lock the basement door and block the staircase with that old bookshelf. Plus, the family room offered the ability to retreat to the laundry room and then garage. There was a means of escape, unlike the bathroom. If they were to make the move, they had to do it right away.
Candice wouldn’t let go.
“We have to leave the bathroom, baby.” Grace told her daughter.
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m scared.”
“I know you are. So am I. We can’t stay in here.” Grace listened to the sounds of Scott’s breathing; that loud, gurgling flutter sound mixed in with Macy slamming against the bedroom door. It was a flimsy door, like the bathroom door, and it was one time Grace wished she would not have taken the budget route on home decorating.
It wouldn’t be long until Macy’s racket woke Scott. Unless, of course, Grace did permanent damage when she hit him.
Slipping the phone into her pajama pants pocket, Grace stood up. Her stomach fluttered and her heart raced out of control. Candice had her arms and legs wrapped tightly around her and Grace reached for the knob.
Scared that Scott was going to jump up the second she opened the door, Grace prepared herself.
She opened the door a crack and peeked out. She saw Scott on the floor. The plan was to open the door, quietly step over his body, and run.
She opened the door enough to slip out. Scott didn’t move. Holding her breath along with her daughter, Grace carefully stepped over Scott.
As soon as she brought her other foot up, he grabbed on to it.
Grace screamed. Scott pulled on her, using her as leverage to stand.
Grace set Candice down. “Run! To the basement. Go!”
Once she saw Candice take off, Grace turned and kicked Scott. It didn’t do any good. The only advantage she had was that he was still half on the floor and having trouble getting up.
Grace stretched as far as she could, her fingers reaching for the trophy on the floor.
Almost there.
An inch away.
Scott pulled and when he was nearly to his feet, she had enough room to grab the bowling trophy, pivot her body, and swing down.
She closed her eyes tight because she was certain that hit was it. That was the one that killed him.
Shoulder bouncing, Grace whimpered, “I’m sorry,” and still holding the trophy, she bolted down the hall. As soon as she was passing Macy’s room, the little girl reached out her hand through the hole she had punched in the door.
Grace stopped.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. Mommy is so sorry.” She grabbed the little hand and held it for a moment. “I’m sorry.” She brought her lips to it and a tear rolled own her cheek. Though Sick with an illness causing mindless violence, it was still her baby.
She stepped back, releasing the hand, and when she did, she bumped into Scott who was standing. Grace took off for the basement.
Surprising her, Scott did not follow.
Grace was correct in her choice to go to the basement. There not only was a door at the top of the steps but one for the family room. The emergency flashlight was at the bottom of the steps, and Grace turned on the kerosene heater.
The car was in the garage and at first light they’d make their way out. She wanted to put on the car radio, but was fearful of any noise.
They were safe in the basement. They had the soda that was stored in the family room fridge and the snacks from behind the bar. With only having to make it through the night, they were fine. Grace, who wasn’t much of a drinker, even had a glass of wine.
After retrieving another light from the garage, the family room had warmed up enough, and Grace held Candice as they sat on the sofa. She had no plans of falling asleep.
Candice did, and Grace was glad about that.
In the quiet darkness, Grace thought a lot. She thought about her life with Scott, how they met after college and waited a few years before having any children. Candice was planned but Macy was more of a surprise, and the reason they stayed married. They had trouble like everyone else, some times more than others.
They were toughing it out for the sake of the children.
Grace had always been quiet, and Scott liked that about her, until she started working at the museum. Suddenly, the loner career she chose brought out some sort of hidden personality via the historical place.
Scott didn’t like that.
A year before, when Grace was arrested the first time, she changed again. Scott hated the fact that she kept in contact with two of the women she met while in custody at the county jail. However, at that point Grace didn’t care. Like so many couples going through the motions, there were a lot of callous days.
The day of the outbreak was not one of them. Grace felt hopeless, scared, and sad, thinking about her family.
She was also wracked with guilt. She wasn’t ill and was hiding from them.
That wasn’t some monster she’d smashed with a trophy, it was her husband. Was she handling it wrong? Grace wished she knew how the rest of the city w
as handling it.
Above her head she heard the steady footsteps.
Scott must have released Macy. She heard the weight difference in the movement. All they did was pace.
Around five in the morning, Grace heard a large thump. She knew it was Scott. After the ‘thump’ she didn’t hear him anymore. Only Macy, and not long after that, she heard crying. Or at least something that sounded like crying.
It broke her heart. What if Macy was aware of what was happening? What if she was scared, and felt abandoned? She was only four years old.
After seeking out a hammer from the garage and making sure Candice was okay, Grace slipped from the family room, secured the door behind her, and went upstairs.
Scott lay in the middle of the kitchen floor. She saw him as soon as she opened the door, closing it quietly behind her.
Hammer in her strong hand, Grace approached him and reached down.
Scott was cold to the touch and he had a horrendous rotting smell to him. He also was not doing that snoring breathing anymore. To the best of Grace’s knowledge, Scott was dead. She was certain his death was her doing, and couldn’t even take time to mourn.
The slight snore sound caught Grace’s attention. Macy stood in the kitchen doorway. She was still wearing her soiled pink princess nightgown. Her brown hair was a matted mess and her head tilted to the side. Her face was ghostly white.
She didn’t lunge for Grace, she just stood there.
“Macy,” Grace called her.
The little girl didn’t reply.
“Macy, baby,” Grace walked to her and crouched down. Her eyes were glazed over with some sort of gray film and Macy stared right through her.
Grace reached up. Her skin was on fire and she had developed lesions on her neck, right under the chin. The same lesions were on her arms and around her mouth.
The feel of her body temperature told Grace the child was sick. What was to say she wouldn’t get better? And to think, Grace had planned on leaving her behind.
Immune Page 4