by David Bourne
“MOM! HURRY UP AND COME DOWNSTAIRS!” he yelled.
His mother had just reached the stairs, when the door fell forward, and crashed loudly into the house. Scott couldn’t believe his eyes: At least thirty of these beasts were now gathered just outside where the front door had once been. How could he have overlooked that? He hadn’t heard any sounds. Through their sheer mass, the monsters had forced the front door off its hinges, and several lay in the foyer making smacking sounds. His mother frantically reached out her hands towards Scott, as many of the beasts streamed in to the house and moved towards him. They trampled over the bodies of other monsters, while some of them were also targeting Martha Gerber and tried to climb the stairs. They crawled over each other to get to the living flesh faster.
“MOM! COME HERE!” Scott yelled. He grabbed his ax.
“SCOTT, I CAN’T! THESE CREATURES ARE EVERYWHERE. HELP ME!”
Scott desperately smashed his ax into the left shoulder of one of the attackers, and now the beast’s arm was only hanging by a thread. Others streamed past the injured creature and approached Scott.
“MOM, LOCK YOURSELF IN UPSTAIRS!”
He swung his ax wildly. Soon the kitchen of the house looked as if a large pig had been slaughtered there. Several creatures lay on the floor, their guts and blood spilled out, but they didn’t die. Even those lying on the ground still tried to get closer to him. The number of these beasts seemed to have increased. Scott could hear his mother scream loudly, and then the bedroom door was locked. He had no way to get to her, so he ran outside. Maybe she could jump out the window and Scott could catch her.
He could see the bedroom window from the garden. Scott held his breath, as he stood there and saw his mother’s face appear in the window. She smiled at her son. She’s made it. Maybe I can lure the pack away from here.
Then Scott saw his mother lift her right arm and smash the window pane with her fist. The glass splinters clinked on the patio. Scott looked at her aghast.
“Run, Sonny! I was bitten.”
To Scott, these words seemed to come from miles away as they reverberated in his ears. He saw how his mother was pulled down and then heard a loud scream. It was as if a nightmare was being projected in front of his eyes when more beasts streamed from inside the house. Scott cried such a loud scream of anguish that he probably caught the attention of all the monsters in Augusta. He didn’t care, but the horde of creatures that came from the house threatened to surround him. Scott tried to concentrate on the fact he had to save Jane and Sam. A mixture of anger and adrenaline fueled his body.
He turned around and started running. He ran as fast as he could, while holding his ax in one hand. Since this morning, Scott had already experienced enough pain to last for a whole lifetime, and he would probably never be able to forget these horrible images. He prayed fervently that his wife and his son had been spared the terrible fate that befell his parents. He didn’t care much about his own life anymore.
Scott wanted to return to his home, but he could forget using his pickup, as the street swarmed with these beasts. He decided to move on foot and kept running. The town meanwhile had started to look like the entrance to Hell. Everywhere there were corpses or packs of beasts feeding on them. The doors of cars and houses stood open. In a few cases, people seemed to have managed to escape, as their driveways were empty. In his peripheral vision, Scott noticed movement in some of the houses, but he didn’t want to know what was happening there. Some people who had been bitten screamed for help, but Scott didn’t stop. He had only one goal in mind: Find his family and take them to a safe place. He wouldn’t give up until he had achieved that goal, and if possible, I will kill all of these beasts worldwide with my own hands. Scott only had to use his ax twice to cut down attackers, and he could already see the silhouette of his house. Even from afar, Scott noticed a white piece of paper on the door. The text, written black ink, said:
Scott, I hope you are alive and can read this, darling.
Sam and I couldn’t find you. I also couldn’t reach any friends or family members. We are trying to find shelter in the woods. We wanted to return to your parents’ house, but couldn’t get through. Please try to find us. I hope we will find other survivors there. We’re doing well considering the circumstances and have not been bitten. We love you and hope to see you soon.
Jane and Sam
Scott looked up at the sky. He was glad they were okay. On the other hand, his hope of finding them was rapidly fading. His only clue was the woods. He gripped his ax with his right hand until his knuckles whitened, and then he ran as fast as he could. While running, he remembered that about ninety percent of Maine was covered by forests. How could he possibly hope to find his family? He hoped they were not too far away yet. He shook his head. I cannot afford such thoughts. Nor can my family. They are counting on me. Scott felt how his legs had started to ache. The pain had a cleansing effect and drove his melancholy thoughts away. By now, he could see the edge of the forest. He hoped there wouldn’t be many beasts in the woods. After all, the town offered more food for this spawn of hell.
Augusta was a small community. How many people could have survived this massacre? Did this catastrophe only affect Maine? Where was the Army? Somebody must have radioed for help. Scott wanted to think about such issues later. As if on cue, his stomach protested by rumbling loudly, as his meager breakfast had been his last meal. Scott’s legs had about enough. He couldn’t remember the last time he had run so fast and so far. His right calf had a cramp, which forced him to walk slowly. For the first time since he started running, he looked around. He had put the town a bit behind him, but Scott could still see packs of these creatures in the distance.
He entered the first row of trees and went about a mile into the forest. Only when he was sure that he had no pursuers did he allow himself to rest near a large rock. The wildest thoughts went through Scott’s mind. He remembered a sermon he heard in church when he was a boy. The minister said that the angels of heaven would announce the Last Judgment with the sound of trumpets. Have I reached the day of the Last Judgment?
He listened whether he could hear a trumpet or not.
Ray (17)
There was only one asphalt road from the lake to Muntly. While Chris sat behind the wheel, Ray fiddled with the radio. No matter which frequency he tried, there was only static.
“You won’t get any reception out here in the woods. It won’t get better for about a dozen miles or so, Captain,” Chris said.
“I see. By the way, let’s not be so formal.”
“Sure, Ray.”
“What do you think we will find in Muntly, Chris?”
“There’s not much there—certainly no hospital. As far as I know, the gas station and a few stores are the only attractions.”
“A working phone would be enough for me.”
Ray checked his cell phone, and saw there was still no signal. Plus, the battery level was now below ten percent.
“Chris, if Duke had really attacked me, would you have pulled the trigger
“I would have.”
“You act like that’s nothing special for you.”
“That’s true. Firing an Airsoft gun is nothing special.”
Ray grinned. “You’re kidding.”
Chris also grinned. “What do you think Duke would say if he knew he had wimped out because of a toy gun?”
Ray laughed. “Probably...”
The radio crackled: “...ask all citizens to stay calm and... completely unclear... as soon as we have news... God save America...” Then there was more static.
Ray and Chris stared at each other for a moment. Both of them knew who had just spoken. They had heard the Vice President of the United States on the radio.
“What the hell is going on if the Vice President is speaking?” Chris asked.
“They want to calm the population, that’s for sure. What I’m more puzzled about is why didn’t the President give a speech?” Ray said.
“Maybe he’s already been evacuated?”
“Could be, but he still should... Wait a moment, what’s that up ahead?” Ray pointed at a blinking light about a mile away.
“Looks like a police car. Maybe it is on the way to the lake?” Chris said.
“But the car seems to have stopped.” Now they were getting closer and could see it. “Stop over there.”
Chris stopped the pickup about twenty yards behind the police car, which was parked at the right side of the road. The car stood at an angle so that it looked like it had slid of the road. The passenger side door was open, and the light bar on the roof flashed into the gray sky at regular intervals.
Ray and Chris got out and slowly walked to the rear of the police car. Through the rear window they could see there were two persons inside, one on the driver’s seat and one in the rear. Both appeared to make manic gestures.
“Maybe the officer had some problems,” Chris said.
“Maybe we’ll soon have problems, too,” Ray replied. “Just listen.”
Chris stopped and wondered what Ray meant by that, and then he heard it also. They both could hear guttural sounds from the car, which didn’t appear human at all. Ray and Chris slowly walked along the driver’s side. When they looked inside the car, they could see the origin of the moaning and groaning: Both the police officer in the driver’s seat and the man in the back showed the same symptoms as the tall man on the plane, though the sickness had already advanced further. Their rotting skin was coming off, and their faces hardly looked human anymore. Both of them waved their arms uncontrollably and moved their heads back and forth. When they noticed Ray and Chris, they got even more frenzied and slammed against the insides of the windows. Only their seat belts prevented them from moving freely. Their grunting became louder.
“Oh, shit,” Chris said.
“We should move on. We cannot do anything here,” Ray said.
“Okay. I only wonder, why the passenger side door... FUCK!” Chris yelled, as something grabbed his ankle. Below the car there was a second police officer, who was also affected by the diseases and who held Chris’ ankle in a vise-like grip. The infected man bit into Chris’ right shoe, and Chris jerked his leg backwards so that his attacker’s head was slammed full force against the inside of the fender. With a squishy sound, a deep gash appeared on the police officer’s forehead, but in spite of this, he didn’t let go of Chris’ foot. Ray didn’t hesitate for long. He opened the trunk of the police car and quickly rummaged through it. He soon found what he was looking for and used a large wrench to break the right wrist of the undead creature so Chris could move his foot. Then he hammered against the officer’s skull until he no longer moved. Now, the two other zombies inside the car were going totally berserk. The driver smashed his head against the window on the driver’s side door until it shattered. He snapped wildly with his teeth and stuck his head outside, but his seatbelt held him back.
“Are you injured?” Ray asked Chris, who was lying on the ground.
“No, I don’t think so,” Chris gasped. “I just need a new pair of shoes.”
“Maybe we can find those in Muntly. Let’s go.”
“As soon as possible.”
When they climbed into the pickup, Chris was still shaking.
“Should I drive?” Ray asked.
“I’m okay. I just wonder what will be waiting for us in Muntly.”
“Then let’s find out.”
When they passed the police car, Chris cast a quick glance at the bizarre scene. He shook his head and stepped on the accelerator.
Ray (18)
They made good time, but the road seemed strangely deserted. Of course, they didn’t expect much traffic in such a remote area but since the police car, Chris and Ray had not come across a single vehicle. Muntly itself also seemed to be empty. The town was not much more than a road and a few side streets, and there were no people visible anywhere. This was unusual for a weekday, even for such a small town. At least Chris and Ray had no problems finding the supermarket—it was at the intersection with Mill Alley, right next to a liquor store. The parking spaces in front were all empty. The doors of both stores were wide open, and Ray felt the strong urge for a drink. As the two men got out and approached the supermarket, they heard voices coming from inside.
“Someone seems to be in there,” Chris remarked.
Ray seemed to be relieved. “Maybe the people here know what’s actually going on, and where the next police station with real police officers is located.”
The supermarket only had two aisles, and there was no one at the checkout registers. The voices originated from a room at the rear of the building.
Ray passed Chris a shopping basket. “Go ahead and get the most important supplies—bread, canned food, water. Look around for painkillers for Greg, too. I’m going to talk to these people.”
Chris nodded and began to fill the shopping basket. Ray started to walk towards the voices in the back room. However, before doing this, he had to do something else. He looked around to make sure that Chris wasn’t watching, then headed to the liquor store and got a pint of Jack Daniels for just in case. He hadn’t had a drink in two days, despite all the stress caused by the plane crash. He had earned this little reward. Just as he neared the back room of the supermarket and started to knock on the door, he noticed that the door was partially open.
Wait a moment... Don’t I know this voice? Ray slowly opened the door further. Just as he had suspected: In the back room, which appeared to serve as an office, a TV set was switched on.
At least they have TV reception here, he thought, but what concerned him was the program that could be seen on the screen. “Chris, you have to see this... Chris?”
Chris hurried over with his shopping basket half full. “I’m here. What’s up?”
“Take a look for yourself.”
The two of them sat on a small sofa across from the TV set.
“...among them our dear President. These events, as far as we know, happened almost simultaneously in all cities of the United States. The virus seems to be transmitted via bodily fluids, so please avoid any contact with infected persons. Stay at home, if possible, and wait for further instructions. All air and ground travel has been suspended. In spite of these extraordinary events, I plead with all of you, my fellow Americans, to stay calm. The military will do anything it can to get the situation under control. It is completely unclear why communication networks have failed in large parts of the country, but we hope to make them available again within the coming days. We will inform you, as soon as there are new developments. Please pray for our nation.”
No matter which station Ray switched to, they all broadcast an endless loop of the Vice President’s speech. A news ticker at the bottom of the screen also told viewers the President had died of the virus yesterday.
Ray sat down at the office PC. When he opened the browser, he saw six letters he had not expected: Google. The internet was working! First Ray logged on to his email account. There were no real messages there, just some spam. He immediately wrote an email to Melissa describing the events of the last two days and asked how she and the children were doing. Chris also wrote an email to his brother Gregory.
“Try using Skype,” Chris suggested.
Ray logged on to his Skype account, but neither Melissa nor the children were online. Chris had no luck, either, but both of them left messages anyway.
They spent the next hour checking news websites and internet discussion groups, hoping to find updated any information. Instead, their search only created more new questions than answers. All kinds of different theories and conjectures were being floated around—from a bio weapons attack, to divine punishment. Hardly anybody had real, well-grounded information. The only thing one could know for certain was that the entire country was in a state of emergency. The virus had spread more rapidly in densely populated areas, so large cities were the hardest hit. However, even police officers out here in the boondocks were
affected, Ray thought.
The symptoms were always the same: The victims became confused and lost their mind, and then became brutally aggressive. So far, no treatments with known medications had shown any effect. A lot of videos on YouTube sometimes depicted s horrible scenes of attacks by infected individuals. The military initially got the situation under control by establishing exclusion zones and performing evacuations, but then chaos spread via infections among its own ranks. Everywhere there was looting and panic. This was the upshot of all the vague, unconfirmed and often contradictory information that Ray and Chris filtered out.
“We should return to the lake soon,” Chris finally said. “The others will be worried by now.”
Ray checked his email and Skype account once more. No answer. “And then? We can hardly return and tell them the world is coming to an end. We need a plan—and I still don’t have one.”
“Just surfing the internet here won’t help us either,” Chris said. “And Greg needs some painkillers. We’ll be safe in the house.”
“And without internet access,” Ray reminded him. “Chris, I need to know how my kids are doing. There also might be new developments concerning the infection any hour now. I’m staying here. You can take the supplies and medication to the others. Then you can pick me up tonight. By then, I might have found out new information. I’m working on a plan.”
Chris didn’t like this suggestion. “Do you really think it’s a good idea staying here alone? Maybe the owners are still here? From a legal point of view, we’re trespassing.” Chris himself realized how silly that sounded.
“Chris, I hate saying this, but during the past two days, I’ve got the impression that any ideas of right or wrong have taken on entirely new dimensions. If only half of what we just read is true, then my staying in this office is completely trivial compared to what is still going on out there.”
Chris knew Ray was right. “Okay, but please check my emails, too.” He wrote down his login information on a piece of paper. “And don’t snoop through my emails. Any porn subscriptions are just spam.”