The APOCs Virus

by Alex Myers

  Death was easy for her to ignore. It hurt to think that one day she would cease to exist. It was something beyond her comprehension. Times when thoughts of death closed in on her, almost suffocating her with its perplexity, it would usually result in a trip to the medicine cabinet for a sleeping pill. Except the times that death had hit close to home—it was a subject she tried to forget.

  She slept very little in the month following the death of her son, Scott. She thought about little Scott now and yearned to be with him. She remembered looking at him lying in his sad, inexpensive, little coffin.

  "Just perfect for a six‑year old, wouldn't you say Mrs. Pigott? Doesn't he look happy?" the mortician had asked.

  No, she had thought, he only looks dead. If there was a God how could he let such a thing happen, to her, or to Scotty? Part of the calm she was now feeling, she realized, was the knowledge that she'd soon be with her baby boy again. He needed her too, as much or more than Henry.

  "Mommy I need you. I'm hurt. I'm so—so cold," a voice said.

  She raised her head and focused her eyes. There was her son Scott, twenty years dead, at her side. Instead of being frightened, she tried to move her wrecked body to comfort him.

  "Mommy I need you," the child said. It was a dreamy voice, not much more than a whisper.

  Nattie could see the child looking hungrily at the crimson leaking from her leg. I was a good mother. I took care of him then, and if he needs me, I'll take care of him now.

  The finely boned—almost frail—boy pushed back the well‑worn print dress, fully exposing her overly-plump thigh. The compound break created quite a gruesome injury to her leg. With the deliberate effort of a young child, he deliciously started to feast. She was impervious to the pain; instead, she threw loving glances in his direction. She could see for certain Scott needed her now, even more than her husband did.

  A warm, motherly smile crossed her lips as the boy hungrily devoured her life-force. She repressed a giggle as a bright droplet of blood spattered on the end of his nose. It caused him to blink both eyes before reaching up to wipe it into his mouth .

  Joy flashed across his adolescent face as he indulged in the bountiful harvest. Nattie had never felt more maternal as when the child bent forward and fed to the pulsating beat of her heart. He adjusted her leg and as he turned he gazed into her eyes.

  His eyes were yellow!

  The creature clamped down just an instant before Nattie screamed, "Wait!"

  Her protest was to no avail as the thing attached itself to her leg, sucking out her vitality. Consciousness began to race away as the thing commenced to drain her.

  The creature moaned loudly with pleasure, spilling blood over its face. It thought that it always tasted better when they go willingly. Soon, it knew, the old woman's heart would quit pumping nourishment. After It took care of the old man she had called Henry, the house would be ready to begin the plans. This particular house was needed to prepare, and soon all the efforts would come together like a symphony of chaos.

  The creature knew Nattie was aware of the plans running through its mind, it was just part of the sharing process. The creature’s thoughts became clearer, as her world retreated further. The last images the creature had of Nattie in this existence were of the vacancy this would create in Henry's life. If there was a way, and it could feel she knew there was, she'd come back to her husband.

  Then the convulsions came in waves of red. They clouded over her consciousness in a deep, soundless vibration of troubled sleep and the creature’s thoughts were once again its own.

  CHAPTER 3

  ETHAN AND WILD BILL

  From somewhere in the next block over a shriek broke the heavy, preternatural silence of the night. The scream started as a high-pitched squeal then took on lower, more guttural octaves. It sounded much too loud to be a human. The sound made him think of an entire building moving across a street.

  "What the hell was that?" Ethan asked.

  "I really don't have any idea . . . but I think it sounded like a woman." Bill said as he shoved the 44‑magnum cartridges into the gun.

  “A woman?” Ethan said and then noticed the bullets and the gun. “What are you doing that for? I didn't know that you could shoot them?"

  "Hey maybe you can't, but let me put it this way, it makes me feel my bag is somewhat covered. In case you haven't noticed the responses of human beings vary greatly under dangerous circumstances. The strong man advances boldly to meet them head on. But the superior man stands up to fate, and the odds of me hitting what I aim at with this are pretty damn good."

  "Let me guess. I Ching?"

  "Yeah, you got that one, have you been doing some reading?” Bill said smiling and holstering the pistol.

  “Not as much as you are starting to repeat yourself. Damn I wish you would have told me you were bringing that, I'd have brought one."

  "Here Ethan, old buddy, catch." Bill threw an enormous knife that tumbled end‑over‑end. It reflected shards of bright moonlight on its long metal blade as it sliced through the air. Ethan calmly caught it by the handle and stuck the grip through a belt loop. Weapons were their thing.

  "I see you're just as quick as you were in the good old days. There is no greater misfortune than underestimating the enemy." Bill laughed.

  "Next time, just hand it to me. Enough with the Eastern Philosophy and this shit about the good ole days. If you ask me the good old days sucked."

  Another shriek broke the calm of the summer's eve like a banshee's wail. Both men swung to their left.

  "What do you get Ethan?" Bill questioned, his voice barely a whisper.

  Ethan placed his hands at his temples and his eyes narrowed. "It's a woman all right, but something's just not kosher about it."

  Both men respected the other's inexplicable talents: Bill's ability to sense and locate impending danger, and Ethan's exceptional eyesight. In addition, both men were linked to each other in a way that neither could explain. They could always sense the other's feelings and intentions. Neither of them understood the proficiencies, the military hadn’t either though, but that didn't stop the army from exploiting it.

  "You know what the problem is," Bill said taking a practice aim, "she's one of them."

  "I know what you're thinking, to hell with it right? Just because she's got the virus we're supposed to turn our heads?"

  "Hey I didn't say anything about that."

  "You don't have to. Remember?" Ethan said touching a finger to his forehead.

  "Yeah I know . . .but listen man. We were just going to come down here and scope the place out. Why all of a sudden are you so gung‑ho about mixing it up with these things?"

  "The same reason you are—it's this underdog thing. Hey, we're here right? We might as well go take a gander."

  "All right,” Bill said begrudgingly, "but I just want you to know I'm not getting good vibes on this."

  "Great. As I see it, we have three ways we can go at this thing. One, we go straight at them."

  "Bad idea."

  "Two, we go a couple of blocks and slink in from the neighborhood."

  "And the third?"

  "The bay!” They both said and simultaneously moved toward the water.

  They were in an area of Norfolk called Oceanview on the Chesapeake Bay. They had crossed the police barricades set up at the Little Creek Navy Base. This was a seedy part of town in the best of times. Now the streets and buildings were deserted after the evacuation the afternoon before.

  They crested a small dune on a public easement next to a house that led out to the water . They could see the gentle waves of the Chesapeake lapping on the sandy shore. A large freighter making its way from the Port of Hampton Roads slid quietly by in the distance on the moon-streaked water. Its wake made the otherwise placid surface dance with light. Ethan felt the same way inside.

  "How far down should we go?" Ethan asked.

  "I'll know when we get there‑‑" Bill was interrupted by another wail. He duc
ked his head as if something were going to hit him.

  This time the sound was much closer and more desperate than the last. The agonizing tone made his skin crawl. Then Ethan heard something new as the noise began to fade.

  "Help me! Please anyone, please make them stop!"

  Bill and Ethan broke from a slow jog into a run.

  "Up this way," Bill said as he started to climb a dune. He was a black silhouette against the sand and seagrass. Ethan scrutinized the beach then followed close behind.

  They accessed the street via an alleyway between the decrepit, decaying storefronts of Oceanview Avenue. The streetlights were out and the moonlight failed to penetrate the empty street.

  "They're close, I can feel it," Bill said.

  "Can you sense how many of them there are?"

  "I think just three. How bout you?"

  "Yeah . . . wait a minute, down about a block and a half, next to that car."

  Bill squinted following Ethan's arm. "Which one?"

  "The SUV thing. Come on and stay on this side of the street." Ethan said as he took the lead.

  They stayed under the protective cover of the shadows, as close to the buildings as possible. They moved silently and swiftly, occasionally stepping over trash where looters had ransacked the few remaining stores. Slowing, they sought cover behind a pile of garbage bags next to the curb. Both men could now clearly make out three figures, one standing and two on the pavement across the street.

  "I can't believe we got this close," Bill said in a hushed tone, "They're supposed to have better eyesight than you even."

  "It looks like they're kind of busy." Ethan said, seeing two of the men holding down a girl.

  The man on hands and knees was atop the squirming woman, trying to kiss her. Another was holding her arms. The man standing had his arms crossed, alternately watching, and halfheartedly attempting to stand guard. The man violently thrust his hips into the woman as she began to scream again. The man standing kicked the girl in the ribcage.

  "Shut up you bitch!" The man yelled as the woman continued to cry and scream. His voice seemed strange, a little too deep and electronic sounding. "You still have to deal with me after this faggot is done."

  The man on the bottom taunted; "Kiss my ass Pedro. I'm taking my own sweet time. This bitch is mine.”

  The distraction gave the woman enough of an opening. She quickly rolled away with animal‑like speed and got up on her hands and knees glaring at her attackers.

  Ethan stood up, took a step forward and yelled, "Stop!"

  All four turned their heads toward Ethan and Bill.

  "What the fuck are you doing, Ethan?” Bill screamed.

  "Come on, I think it's Sophia!” He said as he started to run toward the group.

  "Well son of gun, what have we here?" The man said as he stood and zipped his trousers. "It looks like we're going to have us a little fun tonight after all. Pedro, you take the one by the curb, and I'll‑-"

  He never had a chance to finish his statement as Ethan, running full speed, removed the knife from his belt and threw it into the rapist's chest. The man was propelled backward into a storefront window and fell out of sight grasping at the knife. The second man stared in disbelief, frozen to the pavement as Ethan launched into the air, and put his shoulder into the man's midsection. They rolled together and then separated, both splaying on the sidewalk.

  The man picked up a shard of glass from the broken window and dove for Ethan. Ethan barely had time to move as the glass shattered into the cement next to his head.

  Ethan's adversary moved with a catlike adroitness. The man was on his feet and moving ominously nearer to him. Ethan groped the litter-strewn sidewalk with his hands. He needed to find something—anything to use as a weapon. Never averting his eyes from the man, Ethan landed on an object. It was a broken broom handle. He got up as the man lunged for him. The splintered stick entered the man's chest and came out his back between his shoulder blades. It made a hollow, hissing noise as it passed through him. He fell into a broken heap on top of Ethan.

  Ethan pushed the dead weight of the man aside and slowly rose to his feet, trying to shake off his stupor. He heard a clamor behind him and before he could spin around, he heard a gun ring out a single shot. He felt something slam into his skull. Ethan sensed himself falling to the ground. Before he hit, his world faded to black.

  CHAPTER 4

  HOME IS WHERE THE HEARTBREAK IS

  Ethan woke staring at the night sky and felt the back of his aching head. He tried to remember details of the struggle. He saw Bill on his knees next to him.

  "What the hell did you do—shoot me?" He asked Bill. His eyes were out of focus, but he could see his friend crouched next to him. The street was dark and it had assumed the quiet of earlier.

  "Naw, I didn't shoot you, I shot one of her pals. She slammed you in the head with a Coke bottle, then I shot her.” He said with a gesture over his right shoulder. Ethan could see Bill scanning the scene around them. He watched him nervously check his gun. Then he adjusted the sweatshirt under Ethan's neck.

  Ethan felt the back of his aching head. Pretty nice goose egg. That's the thanks I get for trying to help a damsel in distress. I guess I should feel lucky that I'm even here to complain.

  "Her pals! I thought we were trying to save her?" Ethan asked as he tried to move, but fell back.

  "You were trying to save her. Like a banzai warrior too, I might add."

  "For all the good it did—for her or me."

  "There is a foolish corner even in the brain of the sage." Bill said hiding a smirk.

  "Confucius?" Ethan asked, rising to one elbow.

  "Nah, Aristotle. You didn't say anything about Greek Philosophy. I've got to give you this much though, you were kicking some serious boo-tay, that is, until she popped you one."

  "Where the hell were you the whole time?"

  "I told you, while you were playing superman I saw this guy come around the corner like a bat out of hell straight for you, so I shot him. We're going to have to ski dattle. Think you're up to it?"

  "Give me a second, okay?" Ethan strained to sit upright. The just‑rising lump on his head pounded with his pulse and he was seeing lights swim in front of his eyes. "How about the girl . . . did you . . .?"

  "Kill her? What the hell did you want me to do—ask her to the Policeman's Ball? You know policemen don't have balls."

  Ethan gathered all his nerve afraid of the answer to his next question. He made a face like a small child taking medicine. "Was it . . . Sophia?"

  Bill looked straight into his eyes, shook his head with disdain and said: "Shit no, it wasn't. Is that why you acted so Buckeroo Bonzai?”

  Ethan didn't answer; instead, he turned his head and looked away. Thirty-seconds of silence passed before he asked, "Why do you think she acted that way—you know, attacked me? Couldn't she see we were trying to help?"

  "Because she had it—they all had it."

  "Had . . .?"

  "Had the disease, you know that it makes them bug‑nuts crazy."

  "How do you know they were infected?"

  "Holy shit, when I hit that guy in the noggin yellow shit flew all over the place." Bill acted like he was trying to reason with a drunk. "Plus there was a kind of buzzing in my ears.

  There’s something about their physiology and mine that just doesn’t jive—either that or I’m psychic. We better get our asses moving, it feels like this place is crawling with 'em."

  Bill helped Ethan to his feet with an arm draped over his shoulder. They walked cautiously back to Ethan's Jeep. They walked in the center of the street relishing in the distance from the buildings. Every darkened window and doorway called to Ethan like a siren. It was an evil that seemed to say; "Take your eyes away for just a second, let your guard down for just a minute, life will be so easy if you're one of us." Ethan brushed it off thinking it was just the hit on the head, but he could sense Bill's unease too. He watched Bill's eyes dart from one side of
the street to the other; the way his hand never loosened on the pistol’s grip.

  "You're feeling it too, aren't you?” Ethan asked.

  "Yeah I'm feeling it all right." Bill said, still distracted from the input. "It's making me think some pretty weird shit.”

  "Like what?"

  "That place on the back of your head—well it was bleeding pretty good there for a while. How am I to know that you didn't pick up some of that virus?" Bill looked at him suspiciously.

  "Come on now! I'd know if I had the disease—wouldn't I?"

  "I . . . I don't know . . .. Let's just hurry back."

  When they got back to Ethan's Jeep, Bill put Ethan in the passenger seat and got behind the wheel. As soon as they were past the police barricade the tension between them eased. Bill fingered his mustache and Ethan thought he looked a million miles away.

  "At least we learned one thing tonight," Ethan said waiting for Bill to respond. When he didn't, he continued: "At least we know now we can shoot them if we need to."

  "Yeah, but I learned that you better get your act together about this Sophia thing or it's going to get us both killed." Bill said. He stared straight ahead keeping his eyes on the road.

  More silence, more miles.

  "Do you want me to take you to the hospital? Maybe see if you need some stitches?" Bill asked, sounding more compassionate.

  "Just take me home I'll be fine." Ethan said. Now it was his turn to sound cold. "I'll give you a call tomorrow,” Bill said as he turned into Ethan's driveway. They both got out of the jeep, Bill heading to his truck and Ethan toward the house.

  "Hey bud, are you going to be all right?"

  "Yeah I'll be fine, like you said I've got to do some thinking about my love life issues. Maybe this whole thing shook me more than I realized.”

  “You’re just suffering from onegina.” Bill pronounced this as ‘one-gyna’.

  “What are the symptoms?”

  “Too many sweet fizzy drinks, too much going out to dinner, taking in a movie and the dreaded ‘I’m going to the mall with the little lady shopping for shoes’.”