by Kirk Withrow
Today, the two men managed to go completely unnoticed by the scattered revs occupying the street and adjacent storefronts as they advanced along the former thoroughfare of town. Nearing a stalwart brick building, John’s attention shifted toward movement in an upstairs window. The building was small with an ornate front door upon which hung a sign that read, ‘Wilson, Wilson, and Wentworth, Attorney at Law.’ As John motioned for Reams to get eyes on the upstairs window, they heard an intense banging coming from that direction. To their surprise, they saw a man banging on the glass, frantically trying to signal them. His exasperated and desperate movements left no doubt that the man was not one of the infected.
Reflexively, Reams made a loud ‘shushing’ sound despite the fact there was no way the man in the window could hear him.
John silently motioned for them to head to the building to silence the man’s frantic banging before he attracted every rev in a five-mile radius. The two men quietly crossed the street to the sidewalk in front of the law firm. As they passed the storefront next to the law firm, they were surprised when the banging stopped unexpectedly, and was followed by a brief trundling sound.
John and Reams paused outside the adjacent storefront and considered the implications of this change. Almost immediately there was a squishing noise that sounded and smelled for all the world like someone just fart-gambled and lost. Suddenly, two revs burst out of the door at John’s nine o’clock. The two decaying forms shambled out, taking him completely by surprise. The first had clearly been a 'gangster' in life based on his attire. It wore a baseball cap that somehow managed to remain crisp despite all it had been through. An oversized shirt hung low, covering the ass that surely hung out as its pants appeared to be belted at mid-thigh level. The typical uncoordinated, duck-like gait resulting from the need to focus more attention on keeping one’s pants perched in such a precarious position rather than on actual ambulation was even more exaggerated when combined with the effects of infection. How it managed to keep them up either before or after the infection remained one of life's great mysteries, thought John, as he quickly reacted to the revs. Thankfully, the cumbersome and nonfunctional fashion trend had the same negative impact on the rev’s mobility now as it had before the plague, allowing John to deftly sidestep the shambling form. He swept its legs and brought it down with ease. Reams finished the thing with a hard stomp to its head.
Its buddy stumbled toward them but had not been so successful in its attempts to maintain its pants in such a gravity-defying position, though its shirt nearly hung low enough to conceal this fact. John could just make out the thing’s pants – still buckled – resting securely around its ankles. Its efforts to pursue its quarry were rewarded with a crash to the ground every few steps. Had the circumstances been different the sight might have been humorous, the kind of slapstick comedy you know you shouldn't laugh at, but lack the power not to do so. In the end, however, the ridiculous fashion statement merely served to shackle the rev as effectively as if it were wearing leg irons. After watching the pathetic thing rise following his second crash to the ground, John shoved it back into the store before closing the door and leaving it in the bonds of its own deplorable fashion sense.
Hoping to avoid any further surprises, they continued toward the law office where they positioned themselves on each side of the front door. Reams stood with his sidearm at a low ready position on the opening side of the door, as John moved to the hinge side with his Tavor shouldered. Reams checked the knob and found the door to be locked. Silently, and as naturally as if they had been doing this sort of thing their whole lives, Reams signaled to John just before he kicked in the heavy door with minimal effort. John’s light flooded the room ridding the nooks and crannies of the darkness that could hide their demise, as he entered the room to clear his side. He forced down the overwhelming nausea that accompanied the reek of the room. Instantly, Reams was behind him repeating this process on the other side of the well-appointed front room. They were both relieved when they found no monsters lurking in the shadows.
The room was quite spacious and consisted primarily of an open area between the receptionist’s desk and the client’s sitting area. There was a fancy leather couch and an ornate, antique coffee table that was still home to various back issues of ‘Yachting,’ ‘Golf Digest,’ and ‘Money’ strewn across its top. Several coats and an old tablecloth made it apparent that someone had been using the couch as a bed recently. The immense receptionist’s desk had been ransacked, scattered papers and office supplies littering the adjacent floor. The seat of the overturned desk chair was crusted with old blood. Additionally, a ruddy, crimson patch of pooled and crusted blood marred the otherwise gray carpet beneath the chair.
The most impressive feature of the room by far was the smell that bombarded them from the moment Reams splintered the doorframe. It was an almost indescribable mix of ass, rot, and excrement that had been festering in the warm, dark room without air circulation. John could not help looking at the floor continually, certain he was stepping in whatever caused the godforsaken odor.
As his adrenaline ebbed and the fear of being mauled by a lurking rev lunging out of a dark corner subsided, Reams too was pummeled by the gut-rending odor the room had been cultivating. Reams, however, was less successful than John at controlling the protests of his stomach, as he turned and vomited in the corner. He was certain he preferred the all-consuming fear of entering a dark, unknown room during a plague of biblical proportions to the otherworldly olfactory assault he was currently enduring. Neither of the men could concentrate on anything except getting away from the smell until they heard a rasping moan followed by a clawing sound coming from the adjacent room. Knowing all too well what was responsible for the noises emanating from around the corner, they moved quietly toward the door leading to the source of the sound.
Again, they positioned themselves on opposite sides of the door and cleared their respective angles before synchronously passing through the doorway to clear the space beyond. Reams found himself peering down a short hallway leading to a rear exterior door that was securely closed. There were no side doors or windows, and he saw no sign of the monster responsible for the blood-curdling sounds they heard from the other room.
John peered up a flight of stairs that ended with a closed door at the top. The proximity of the low, raspy moan made it seem as though it was coming from directly below him, nearly causing John’s heart to stop as he instinctively leapt back and swung his weapon light down toward the ground. Two muffled pops erupted from the suppressed Tavor as the muzzle of the weapon found the twisted form of a rev lying at the bottom of the stairs. The hallway immediately fell silent as the faint, acrid smell of gunfire wafted out of the suppressor, only to be completely overpowered by the road-kill smell of sun-dried raccoon on an Alabama highway in August, emanating from the now ventilated dead thing at the foot of the stairs.
The once female rev appeared to have fallen down the stairs given the obviously broken legs twisted at unnatural angles and pinned under its torso. One arm was also clearly broken and pinned under its shoulders so that the hand seemed to protrude from its armpit on the opposite side. John nudged the thing with the end of his weapon to confirm it was no longer a threat before turning to regard Reams, who still looked a bit stunned. After motioning to the door at the top, John turned and began slowly ascending the narrow flight of stairs. John stayed to the left side, as Reams got into position to cover him along the right. Upon reaching the top of the creaking stairs, John quietly called to the man he saw in the window.
“We’re friendly, anyone alive in there?” He waited several tense seconds but got no response. Taking a step closer, he was about to knock when the door flew open suddenly, nearly causing John to fall to the same fate as the rev at the foot of the stairs.
“FINALLY! WHAT THE HELL TOOK YOU GUYS SO LONG?” said the small statured man in a voice far too loud for his little body. “Are you guys with the Army? What the hell is going on?” con
tinued the man as he glared at the well-armed man who was heavily covered in paramilitary clothing and riot gear pads.
The irate man, who they soon learned was Trenton Wentworth III, never realized how close he came to having a 180 grain projectile sent blazing through his skull at 2,600 feet per second, as Reams slowly eased the pressure off of the AR-10’s trigger. He did, however, keep his muzzle trained on the little man advancing on John as he recovered at the top of the stairs. A forceful sound from Reams, almost like a cough, caused the small man to stop in his tracks and regard the big man whom he clearly had not previously noticed. Now back on stable footing, John spoke to the new survivor.
“No, we’re not with the Army. My name is John, and that’s Reams. We saw you in the window and thought we would see if you needed help.”
Reams wasn’t sure if it was what John said about seeing if the man needed help, or the fact that they were not with the Army, but he saw a distinct look of disgust flash across the little man’s face.
Trenton Wentworth III was the youngest partner in the small local law firm. At 5’ 2” tall and 135 pounds, he was a rather diminutive man. Even at that weight he still seemed to be no more than a quarter of Reams’ size by comparison; the marked disparity was striking. Trenton wore white pants with thin, vertical blue stripes, and a two-toned blue button up shirt with white collar and cuffs. Completing his outfit were penny loafers that contrasted the rest of his attire in that they still appeared polished to perfection. His shirt and pants, on the other hand, bore the telltale wrinkles of having been slept in for the last few days, as well as myriad stains representing everything from coffee to blood to feces. The man’s equally disheveled, thinning brown hair made him appear at least ten years older than his actual age.
“Where the hell is the Army or the police? There are seriously only the two of you? Pardon me if I don’t just fall down praising the heavens,” said Trenton in a smug, ungrateful, and sarcastic tone. As neither John nor Reams particularly liked the dwarf of a man that barreled through the door moments ago, his words fairly justified their sentiments.
With a slight sense of relief that the irritating man did not seem keen on coming with them, John said, “Yeah, it sucks but it’s just us. Looks like you’re all safe here. We’ll be heading on now.” Before John even managed to turn back toward the bottom of the stairs, Trenton underwent an amazing transformation that would have made a jury swoon.
“Not at all, I meant no offense of course. I was just venting about yet another failure of our government to use the resources at hand for the good of its people. You two are the only other people I’ve seen who seem to have any idea about how to look after themselves. People like us need to stick together if we’re going to make it through this,” said Trenton with a remarkably white, toothy smile and an insalutary sparkle in his eye.
John gazed blankly at Trenton and caught a glimpse of Reams rolling his eyes in his peripheral vision. Before he or Reams could respond, Trenton stepped past them and started down the stairs, saying, “We better get going before more of them show up.”
As Trenton reached the bottom step the crumpled body came into view in the dim light. He froze instantly before stumbling backward on the stairs and puking all over his two-toned shirt. “Oh God! Linda! What the hell did you guys do to Linda?” Trenton gasped between periods of gagging. They reached the stair that Trenton was resting on just as he heaved the remainder of the meager contents of his stomach all over his previously impeccable shoes.
“You haven’t been out of that room much have you, Trenton?” asked John, feeling a sense of sorrow for the man as he recalled how he felt when he first realized what was happening back on the roof of the airport. “You haven’t seen many of them up close? Who was Linda?”
After a few moments Trenton regained some sense of composure. “She was our receptionist. It was just she and I here when this all started. I was working late on an upcoming trial when she told me about some of the strange things she heard from a friend of hers that worked at the radio station out by the airport. Knowing I was going to spend the better part of the following week here in the office preparing for a trial, I sent her to the store to get some supplies fearing there might be a run on the staple items, as there always is when there is any threat of impending disaster. Linda dutifully did as I requested but returned empty handed after being assaulted by a ‘deranged drug addict’ as she approached her car. She said she doused him with pepper spray and kicked him in his ‘drugged-up balls,’ neither of which deterred him. She knocked him down with her purse and fled, but not before the sick bastard managed to gnaw a chunk out of her ear like he was Mike Tyson or some shit!” said Trenton, as he sniffed back mucous that in all likelihood had more to do with his recent regurgitation than any emotion felt for the woman.
“At first she seemed okay, but later that afternoon, she started complaining that she felt ill. I fell asleep at my desk and awoke to a snarling, moaning noise that sounded like a wild animal had weaseled its way into the office. That’s when I saw Linda just standing there swaying, and I realized that she was the one responsible for the awful sound. As soon as she caught sight of me staring at her, she gave chase, but I managed to barricade myself in the upstairs room. She has been clawing at the door ever since,” said Trenton trailing off.
Despite their distaste for the new survivor, both John and Reams felt sorry for him and his situation. Begrudgingly, John extended a hand to help Trenton to his feet. “Come on, we should get moving,” said John.
Exiting the office, the three men trudged quietly back to Al’s house. Along the way they encountered only a few of the infected and were easily able to avoid detection. John led the group with Reams bringing up the rear. Trenton remained an unknown to the two men, and they did not want to give him a firearm only to be inadvertently shot by it. For that reason, he remained unarmed in the middle flanked by the two armed men.
John found it odd that Trenton did not seem to want a weapon and thought that he truly had no idea of what the world was like outside of his little sheltered office. John knew the three of them were going to have a long discussion once they were safe at Al’s.
Feet tortured and legs aching, they finally made it back to Al’s compound. John made Trenton take off his loafers a couple miles out as they kept clacking loudly against the pavement. When he mentioned this, Trenton initially glared at him with defiant indignation and refusal in his eyes. Leaning down toward the shorter man’s ear, John whispered in an almost inaudible tone, “Take those dinner bells off of your feet now. Got it?” When John straightened up, he saw all the blood drain away from the Trenton’s face as he realized what John was implying before finally acquiescing.
The moment the group stepped inside the confines of Al’s house, Trenton’s verbal barrage began. “My feet are absolutely killing me! The first priority is finding me a decent pair of size eights. I probably won’t be able to walk for a couple of days with these blisters! The phones were down at my office; have you two been in contact with the authorities? Where is the government on this thing? I appreciate the help thus far, but I think we should meet up with the military or law enforcement, and get to somewhere safer than this,” droned Trenton, seemingly unaware that neither of the exasperated men were listening to him any longer.
John had one hand extended across Reams’ expansive chest and the other over his face, the thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of his nose. He called Trenton’s name several times with increasing volume before the undersized man finally paused to listen.
“Trenton, there is a lot we need to talk about and a good deal you need to know and accept about this shit-storm of an epidemic going on around us.” John motioned toward the door to indicate the deadly new world that lay beyond. “But my friend and I are really tired and very hungry. We have been out patrolling all day with no rest and precious little food. I will explain the situation to you as best I can, but first I would like to sit down, stow my gear, and get a bite
to eat. Now, we brought you here to stay with us, but for that to work, you are going to have to be a bit less demanding, and a bit more cooperative. Okay?”
For the briefest instant Trenton looked more insulted than if he had just been told he could not get a tee time at the local country club. This sentiment, however, was quickly replaced with a look that tried to convey understanding and sympathy, though the contempt percolating just below the surface was impossible to miss.
In a tone that made it clear it was not okay, Trenton replied, “Of course, I do not wish to impose.”
“Good, now make yourself at home, and we’ll talk later,” said John as he went about putting away his gear.
A couple of hours later the three men sat as John explained the situation to Trenton. He told him about the airport and Al’s place, what they knew about the infection, and what information they had about the government and military response. He finished by telling Trenton about his family, his search for his daughter, Ava, and about the strange phone call from his friend, Dr. Lin San. John was surprised that the man did not utter a single word of interruption the entire time. In fact, several minutes passed after John concluded before Trenton said anything at all.
“So that’s it then, it over,” said Trenton, his tone unmistakably dismal.
It was Reams’ turn to speak. “Over? What exactly do you mean?” said the big man with undisguised disgust in his voice. “You mean ‘the end of the world, why bother, let’s just feed ourselves to the revs or put a bullet in our brain’ over? Well, if that’s what you want to do lawyer boy, then be my guest,” said Reams as he drew his pistol, racked the slide, and handed it to Trenton who recoiled from the thing as if it was a poisonous snake poised to strike. Reams continued, “Me and my friend here, on the other hand, have work to do. There is a little girl out there and a lady who might just be able to come up with a cure for this bullshit, and both of them could probably use a little help right about now. So if you’re done groveling then I suggest you get some rest. Otherwise, I’ll leave this right here for you,” concluded Reams as he slammed the pistol down onto the coffee table. The big man stormed off toward his sleeping quarters.